


Wild Card

by 98Hawkeye98



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Deals, Eventual Graphic Birth, F/M, Hunting, Pregnancy, Sexual Content, Unknown sibling, strong female lead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-05-06 10:58:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 40,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5414306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/98Hawkeye98/pseuds/98Hawkeye98
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Separated at birth, Jacklynn (Or Jack), Winchester hunts for her long-lost brothers, after making a deal to save her best friend's life. She makes this deal by exchanging something other than her soul...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first story over here on Archive of our own. I've only written for Fanfiction.net and I am still getting used to the way this website works. Please bear with me. I have posted this story on Fanfiction and decided to post it here as well. Anyways, I do have a co-author and beta-reader, she goes by Phoenixofthelostandforgotten. Please enjoy.

Prologue:

 

My life wasn’t always in the suburbs, rockin’ that white picket fence. No, I’d spent the first fourteen years of my life in and out of foster homes, some better than others, but most feeling like I was living in the fires of Hell. I met Ingrid at the young age of twelve. She was just like me, in and out of foster homes, suffering the way I was. She was different from me, though. She had a better outlook on life than I did, and somehow, I always despised her for it. But, in the end, that’s what saved me. I was a twelve year old hooked on crack, with needle scars in the crooks of my elbows and dark circles under my eyes. Cuts littered the tops of my thighs. I was ready to die, or ready for my next hit. I couldn’t tell which. But, then I saw her out of the haze of my eyes, her pale skin quickly turning red in the hot summer sun, and her curly red hair shining in the rays. I was immediately jealous. How could anyone live in this  hell hole and look so happy? Always a smile on their face?

 

I know I couldn’t. She’d come up to me, introduced herself, and I had a nasty reply waiting on the tip of my tongue. I could tell the remark had hurt her, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. But Ingrid still forced herself into my crappy little life. She pushed and pushed at the walls surrounding my heart, and I was forced to care about this wonderful person. After five months of knowing Ingrid, the cutting stopped, and instead, whenever I felt like I was going to die from the pain, I let her hold me, or I went in search of my next fix. It took almost a year for Ingrid to get me to quit, to get some help. I spent three months in that place, fighting my addiction. I came out victorious, and she was there, waiting for me. A huge smile split her face, one that reached her warm green eyes.

 

Not even a year later, somehow we struck luck. We both got into better homes than we’d ever been in. Our stomachs full, and nice clothes on our backs. When we graduated from high school, we had graduation caps perched on our heads and huge smiles on our faces for the picture. Ingrid encouraged me to study at Harvard. I got in on a full ride scholarship for their great medical program. Yeah, me. Hooked at crack at the age of twelve, debating dropping out of school to work on the streets. Jacklynn Smith, going to Harvard. But, that was a little over nine years ago, now. My life has changed drastically since then, and all thanks to Ingrid.

 

She’d saved me, and now it was my turn.

 

I sold my soul for my best friend to live.

 

...

 

My name is Jacklynn Smith. Or, if you want to go by my biological family’s name, Winchester. I sold my soul for my best friend, Ingrid. She was dying slowly… and I couldn’t just sit there and not do anything. Well technically, I didn’t sell my soul. The only way the damn thing would offer to deal with me was if I offered to carry his child. I’m in search of my biological brothers; they deal in these kind of things. I just hope they can help me.  The demon was very clear; if I try to drop the deal in anyway, Ingrid dies. If I try to hurt this… thing inside me,  Ingrid dies. Talk about a rock and a hard place. As the search for my brothers grew cold, I grew more worried and scared. After about a month of staying up all night looking for clues, anything that would lead me to the infamous Sam and Dean Winchester, I found a lead that sounded promising. Robert Singer.

 

I drove up the gravel path into the salvage yard. Rusted and broke down cars surrounded my little black Kia. When I pulled up to the house, I shut off the engine, and sat looking at the exterior of the house. It was covered in a thin layer of dust and dirt. I dropped my head to the steering wheel of my car, closing my eyes and praying this lead wouldn’t be a dead end. I couldn’t take another one of those. I’d break down.

 

I jerked the key out of the ignition and opened the door, setting my feet down on the gravel. I tried to shut the car door as gently as I could, but still winced at the  bang that echoed around the yard. I made my way up to the front door, gravel crunching under my tennis shoes. I walked up the wooden steps and across the porch to the peeling front door. Before I could raise my fisted hand to knock on the door, it was flung open and I found myself staring down the barrel of a rifle. I jumped back with a little scream. It wasn’t everyday I had a rifle shoved in my face. At least not anymore.

 

“What do you want, ya idjit?” The gruff voice came from behind the gun.

 

I gulped down the fear in my throat and played with the keys still clutched tightly in my hands. The cool October wind bit at my exposed skin as I squeaked out an answer.

 

“I’m Jacklynn Smith. I’m looking for my biological brothers… Sam and Dean Winchester…?”

 

I watched in shock as the old trucker slowly lowered his rifle and stared at me with wide blue eyes.

 

“It’s you.”

 

Bobby POV-

 

The last thing he’d expected to see on his porch was the long lost Winchester. The last time he’d saw the girl she was just a little baby with dark hair sitting in a car-seat. Now, she was a full grown woman with long, dark hair the same color as Sam’s, but curlier. She was tall for a woman; he’d peg her at five feet nine. She resembled Sam in her looks, but her eyes were all her mama’s. Big and blue surrounded by dark lashes. She wore a plain gray t-shirt, a light jacket over that, well worn jeans, and tennis shoes. Bobby could tell she had no weapons on her, and she wasn’t raised in the hunting life just by her stance. Her long fingers played nervously with the keys in her hands. She was really Sam’s twin. A moment later, he had her wrapped in his arms, squeezing her tight before he could really even process it. He let go of her and realized the girl was freezing. He quickly pulled her into his house, and shut the door behind them, throwing the entryway into shadow. He stared at her while she finally seemed to find her voice.

 

“What… What do you mean ‘It’s you?’”

 

Her voice had a melodic lilt to it, and was soft. As he looked at her, he wondered what had brought on the search for her brothers. He walked into the living room and gestured for her to sit down on the couch. He set the rifle down on his desk, then kneeled in front of her.

 

“Girl, you’re the long lost Winchester. John, your biological daddy, gave you away before you was even a year old. I tried to talk the old coot out of it, but once that man had his mind made up, he didn’t change it for nothin’. Sam won’t remember ya, but I think Dean will. Maybe."

 

He took a deep breath as he looked at her, watching her digest all the information he’d just gave her.

 

“Now, what trouble have ya gotten yourself into?”

 

Suddenly, she broke down in sobs, her shaking hands covering her wet cheeks. Her shoulders shook with the sobs she heaved.

 

“I made a deal.”

 

Bobby sighed and dropped his face into his hands that were propped up on his bent knees.

“What is it with the damn Winchester family? Always thinking you have to sacrifice yourself for someone else?”


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1-

 

I broke down right there on that dusty old couch, in front of the even older man. I lifted my head from my hands and looked at the man who still kneeled in front of me with swollen, red eyes.

 

“Can they help me?” I whispered.

 

He sighed and shoved up from his position. He swiped a hand down his wrinkled face before he crossed the den to the book covered desk that sat in front of the fireplace. He dropped down into the chair behind the desk and looked at me over a stack of books. He looked ten years older.

 

“How long did ya get, Jacklynn?” He sounded even more older and tired.

 

I shook my head and pushed up from the couch and began to pace the den. Before Ingrid had gotten too sick, I searched for ways to get her better, to save her from her inevitable fate. As my desperation grew, so did the craziness of my research. I finally stumbled across something that I knew couldn’t be true, but I hoped was. A crossroad deal. I’d learned that after someone sold their soul, hellhounds would come to collect in ten years. And, I was okay with that. As long as Ingrid got to live, and I got ten years to spend with her. But, consider my shock when the damn thing said it didn’t want my soul. He wanted me to mother his spawn.

 

He told me Ingrid would live, and I said yes. I couldn’t let her die. I just… I couldn’t. I don’t regret anything I’ve done, but the one thing I do regret? I have no idea what I’m carrying inside of me, and what I’m about to bring into the fucking world in six plus months.

I stabbed my fingers through my thick curls and stopped in front of the old man’s desk. I still hadn’t asked him what he prefered to be called by. I crossed my arms over my chest, and drummed my fingers restlessly over my rib-cage. He was waiting for an answer.

 

“Look, I’m a college student. I go to one of the best medical schools in the country. I graduate from Harvard in a year and a half. I’m getting ready to turn twenty-seven, and I made a deal for my best friend who was dying. And you wanna know how long I got? The damn thing didn’t want my soul. He wanted me to carry his offspring.”

 

I breathed heavily as I watched him take in the information I’d just thrown at him. He went still and dropped his head into his hands with a heaved sigh.

 

“So, you’re telling me that you’re pregnant with demon spawn?” He looked up, his eyes begging me to tell him this was all some big joke.

 

At my reluctant nod, he groaned then pulled a liquor bottle out of the bottom desk drawer and took a swig from it. He winced as it went down, then capped the bottle. He stared at the amber liquid that sloshed around in the bottle. Without looking up, he said;

 

“I have a spare bedroom upstairs. It’s at the very back of the hallway on the right. Go get some rest. It’ll take awhile for the boys to get here once I call ‘em.”

 

“Look-” I didn’t know what to call him.

 

“You can call me Bobby. And, you look like you went a round with a vengeful spirit and lost. In other words, you look like crap. Go get some rest. You’re gonna need it, girl.”

I grumbled under my breath as I headed to my Kia.I jerked open the back door and pulled my duffel off the back seat, swinging it onto my shoulder as I went back into the house and up the stairs. I found the bedroom easily enough, and threw open the door to the darkened bedroom. A window, dresser, bedside table, and twin bed sat in the otherwise empty bedroom. My fingers felt along the cool wall in search of the light-switch. I located it and flipped it on as I shut the door behind me and threw my duffel on the wooden dresser. Unzipping the duffel, I pulled an old t-shirt and my college sweatpants on.

 

Once comfortable, I flopped on the bed and surprisingly fell into an easy sleep.

 

Dean POV-

 

He and Sam had just finished up a hunt, and they were relaxing in the hotel. Sam sat at the table, his laptop out in front of him, most likely doing more research on Lilith. Dean lay propped up against the head-board, TV remote in his hand as he watched a news caster ramble on about things happening around the country. When his cellphone rang, he flipped the TV off and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Grabbing his phone off the nightstand, he flipped it open and pressed it to his ear.

 

“Bobby?” He looked up from his booted feet and met Sam’s questioning gaze.

 

“Boy, you and Sam need to get your asses back to Sioux Falls as quick as possible.”

 

Dean went rigid with that comment and stood. He walked over to the table and sat down in the chair across from Sam and put the phone on speaker. He sat it down in the center of the table.

 

“What’s going on, Bobby?” Dean’s voice was rough, worry thick in his voice.

 

Sam’s face was serious as he closed the laptop and rested his elbows on the tabletop.

 

“I’ll tell ya’ll when ya get here. It ain’t something to be said over the damn phone. Now, haul ass.”

Sam and Dean looked at the phone and the dial tone coming through the speaker. Sam sighed and began to pack.

 

“I wonder what’s going on up there?”

 

Dean looked up from throwing clothes in his duffel and shrugged. “Whatever it is, it doesn’t sound good.”

 

They hauled ass like Bobby had told them, and made it to the salvage yard within ten hours. Dean pulled the Impala to a screeching stop by a small Kia, Metallica still blaring out of the speakers. He turned the ignition and the music abruptly shut off, leaving a deafening silence behind.

 

“Let’s do this,” Dean sounded unsure, even to his own ears.

 

...

I sat on the old couch again, curled up in a ball, a mug full of coffee in my hands. I had my headphones plugged into my ears, CCR coming as a comfort to me. As John Fogerty crooned about the bad moon, I didn’t notice when two new souls entered the room. A touch on my shoulder had me jumping and ripping out my headphones. I looked up and met a set of brilliant green eyes that stared suspiciously at me.

 

Once the green-eyed man knew he had my attention, he stood taller and looked at Bobby.

 

“This was the ‘Haul your asses up here’ emergency? Some college student?” His voice was low and gruff.

 

I narrowed my eyes and placed my coffee mug on the table, standing up. I looked from the blonde one to the really tall one standing behind him. Dean and Sam. My biological brothers.

 

“Dean, I wouldn't have called you and Sam if this wasn’t important. I know you’ve got to stop the seals from breaking.” Bobby sighed heavily and took another swig from his liquor bottle.

 

“Who is she, then?” Dean asked Bobby.

 

He was pretending I wasn’t there, and it was pissing me off. I put my hands on my hips and ignored Sam staring at me.

 

“‘She’ can talk, ya know?” I ground out angrily.

 

He turned from looking at Bobby, and to look at me. His mouth dropped open slightly, and his eyes went wide.

 

“No, it can’t be. That bitch-face... Bobby, please tell me it isn’t…” His words were broken as he stared at me.

 

“Boy, I can’t tell you it isn’t when you know damn well it is.” Bobby had stood up and was leaning on the corner of his desk.

 

“Someone want to clue me in on what’s going on here?" Sam’s voice came from the doorway.

 

Dean turned and looked at him, a sad look in his eyes. Sam stiffened at the look.

 

I still had my hands on my hips as I waited to see what would happen next. A blow up? Bobby told me it would inevitably happen. I looked between Sam and Dean.

 

“Sammy, there’s some things I haven’t told you…” Dean trailed off.

 

Sam let his duffel fall to the ground with a loud  thump.  “What haven’t you told me?” Worry was etched onto the giant’s face.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2-

Bobby was right. It was indeed a blow up.

The words tumbled out of Dean's mouth, "Sam, you have a twin sister."

Sam went quiet for a second, and when I looked to Bobby, even he was bracing for impact. Sam had gone still, his face wiped clean of emotion. One word was uttered. "Sister?"

I could see that it was paining Dean having to tell his baby brother this, but he soldiered on. "Yes, Sam. A twin sister. Dad put her into the system before you two were barely seven months old."There were tears glistening in Dean's eyes, and the only emotion Sam was showing was clenching his hands into fists and squeezing them.

"And you couldn't think to tell me? That I shared a womb with somebody? That there's another Winchester out there?" As he went on, the cracks in his facade were more noticeable, and tears had begun to show in his eyes.

Dean shook his head. "Dad told me never mention her again. That she was in a better place. A better home."

Sam had begun to shake. "He talked about her like she was dead! And speaking of the dead, Dad's been gone almost three years now. Why the fuck haven't you told me?"The last part of the sentence came out a roar.  
"Because she was living the life we never got to live, dammit, Sam! That's why I didn't tell you about her, okay? I was scared if we went to see her, or even talked to her, she would get dragged into this fucking mess!" Dean roared right back.

Sam glared daggers at his older brother, his chest heaving with the ragged breaths he was taking. He bent down and picked up his duffel, and stalked out of the room without a word.

Dean scrubbed a hand down his face and turned towards Bobby and I. He sighed and grabbed Bobby's liquor bottle off of the desk top. Not bothering with a cup, he downed a gulp, then offered it to me without a word. I shook my head, and moved back to sit on the couch. It's not that I didn't want that drink of whiskey, no. I wanted it after the few months I'd been through, but I was scared that me even touching that damn bottle could kill Ingrid. There was no way in hell I was risking that.

Dean plopped down in the desk chair and moved a stack of books out of his way. "So, what brought you here?" He sounded tired. Hell, he looked like he needed a good long nap.

I decided straight to the point was the best way to go here. He didn't look like he wanted the full story. Just the cliff notes.

"My friend, Ingrid, was sick. I'm not talking the flu, and few sniffles here and there. No, I'm talking about she only had days to live. So, when there was no other option, I made a deal." I picked up my coffee mug and took a sip of the lukewarm coffee as I watched Dean's reaction.

He covered his face with his hands and heaved a big sigh. "How long did you get, Jack? The usual amount of time?"

I rolled the ceramic cup in my hands and watched the light brown liquid roll around inside. "I didn't sell my soul. The damn thing didn't want it. He wanted me to carry his child."

The creaking of the chair brought my head up as Dean walked around the desk to stand in front of me, roughly shaking his head. "So, what you're telling me, is that your baby daddy is a demon?"

I glared at him. "That's exactly what I'm telling you, Dean. And if I try to do anything to harm this little… Offspring, Ingrid drops dead."

"Of course. It's the same fucking thing they pulled on me." He turned towards Bobby and threw his hands up in the air. "There's no way to get her out of this, Bobby. The deal is air-tight."

My heart sank with those words, and I dropped my head into my hands. I groaned, and stood, wrapping my headphones around my iPod. Brushing my hair out of my face, I started for the stairs.

Dean's voice stopped me."Where are you going, Jack?"

I stopped and didn't turn around. "You just said I couldn't get out of the deal. I'm going back to Boston."

I moved to go up the stairs, but a hand on my shoulder stopped me at the bottom step, my hand still on the paint-chipped railing. "You still need to stay here. We don't know what's gonna happen within the next few months. We need to protect you."

I gave a harsh laugh. "I don't need protecting, I just want to know what I'm bringing into the world."

"And we'll find out. Sam and I got connections. I promise you, Jacklynn. Ain't nothin' gonna happen to you. Or the world."

I turned around and looked him in the eye. I realized something then. I believed him, and I knew he wouldn't let me down.  
...

Neither Sam nor Dean stayed around me for very long, and if they did, it got awkward real quick. I wasn't allowed to leave the house, Dean's rules. It got very old, very quickly, being stuck in the damn house. After seven days I got restless enough to clean Bobby's house, starting with the kitchen. I'd mopped the floor, cleaned out the fridge, and had started to make dinner. I was the regular housewife. I felt like a maid to the guys. I studied ahead in all my medical books, and had begun to study the lore books in Bobby's library. Bobby said it'd be good if I knew what I was really out there, but when Dean caught me reading one on the couch in the den, his face had gone red with anger, and he'd stormed out of the room.

He and Bobby had gotten into it, and just by the way Dean was acting around the old man I could tell Bobby had won that argument.  
It was the next day I had stumbled down the old wooden steps in wool socks and crazy hair in search of coffee. Bobby was standing in the kitchen leaning against the counter, his shirt rumpled, and a mug of coffee in his hand. We had a little system going. I wouldn't talk to him and he wouldn't speak a word to me until we both had at least one cup of coffee running through our systems. After I had poured some caffeinated gold in a mug, put two spoons of sugar after that, and a shot of milk, I sipped the still hot liquid, and sighed. After my third gulp of coffee, I felt more alive. I then noticed that the house seemed too quiet and empty.

"Where's Sam and Dean?" I asked, then promptly yawned.

Bobby took another drink of his coffee, then placed the mug on the counter behind him. He then shoved his hands in his pockets. "They're on a hunt not too far from here. Simple and easy werewolf hunt, should be back within the week."

I nodded, and took another gulp of coffee, draining the mug. I quickly poured another mug and drank that one just as fast. I set the cup in the sink with a little clankand tried to run my right hand through my tangled hair, but only managed a wince and getting my fingers stuck half way through.

Bobby and I stood there leaning against the peeling counter top for a quiet couple of minutes. I bumped my shoulder against his. "Go get some sleep, old man. You need it." He opened his mouth to protest, but I raised my hand. "You looked like you went a round with a vengeful spirit and lost." I used the line he'd used with me the first day I'd been here, and got a smile in reply.

"Alright, but for only for a few hours. The boys might call and need information." He started for the den, and no doubt for that dusty old couch.  
I rolled my eyes and mumbled under my breath. "You'd hear it anyway,"

"Hey! I'm old, not deaf!"

I couldn't help the laugh that slipped between my lips as I headed up the stairs to grab a quick shower and brush through this nest on top of my head that I somehow managed to call hair.  
After my shower, I looked somewhat human. My hair was brushed and put back in a bun, worn out blue jeans that had blown out in the knees and frayed at the cuffs, and an old sweater completed the look.  
Neatly avoiding the books and notebooks strewn everywhere, and papers waded up into tight balls all around the floor, I plopped down on the bed that I currently called mine. Suddenly, I felt something stab me in the butt. I yelped, and reached under my rear end to see what had inflicted the sharp pain. My fingers wrapped around cool plastic, and I pulled the offender up into my vision. My blue pen. I sighed and shoved it in the metal spiral of my one of my notebooks.

After studying for another hour and reading lore books for another two hours, I stretched and decided with a look at my watch that it was time for lunch. I jumped from the second to last step on the staircase onto the floor. I walked into the kitchen and over to the fridge to pull out the ingredients to make my signature dish: cold sandwiches. What can I say? I'm not a very big cook. And, earlier when I said I made dinner for the guys? Yeah, well. That consisted mostly of box Macaroni & Cheese, grilled cheese and tomato soup, and Hamburger Helper. Real big selection, right?

As I made the sandwiches, Bobby came in from the salvage yard with a bang from the screen door, wiping grease off of his hands. He stopped at the counter next to me, rinsing his hands in the sink, making the water go black.  
"Got a call from Dean. He and Sam should be home tomorrow. They already located the werewolf and are going after it tonight. See, girl? Open and shut case." He gave me a smile as he stole one of the completed sandwiches off of the plate and took a bite of it.

…  
It wasn't just an open and shut case.  
The roar of the Impala made my stomach sink. Not that the guys were home, but something was very wrong. When the doors to the car opened and there was only one set of footsteps, the feeling was amplified. A yell made me jump, and Bobby run to the door.

"Open the damn door, Bobby! Jack!" It was Dean.

When Bobby swung the door open, Dean rushed in, his arms full with a bloody form. Sam. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. Not good. Dean rushed into the kitchen and laid Sam out on the kitchen table, sweeping his arm out to clear the tabletop, sending everything crashing to the floor. I watched in a stunned silence as Dean frantically ripped Sam's t-shirt open and exposed his crimson colored chest, and the gashes from his right shoulder almost to the waistband of his jeans. The wounds brought me out of my shocked silence, and I immediately jumped into action.  
I shoved Dean aside, and bent over Sam's chest, looking at his wounds. Without taking my eyes off of the wounds, I started to give directions.

"Dean, outside in the glovebox in my car is my suture kit. I need it. Bobby, will you be my extra set of hands? Wash your hands thoroughly."  
I didn't have to look over my shoulder to know that Dean's mouth was gaping open. Luckily, he didn't question it, just ran outside and came back within thirty seconds with the suturing kit in his hands. He slammed it down on the table, leaving bloody smears on the white plastic. When Bobby came back with clean hands, I removed my own from the wounds.

"Can you start cleaning the wounds? Make sure they're as clean as you can make them."  
I turned and ripped the plastic box open, then headed for the sink to thoroughly scrub my hands. I quickly dried them off on a fairly clean towel, then returned to the table. As Bobby cleaned the wounds, Sam began to thrash. From the box, I pulled out a syringe of liquid Morphine and injected into his arm. As the medicine flowed through his system, he stilled and relaxed.

"Tell me what I can do," Dean's voice was desperate from where he was standing at the end of the table.

I looked up into his eyes and saw the desperation. "Wash up, we might need an extra set of hands."

I began to clean the wounds, and checked them to make sure there was no debris lodged in there that would cause problems later. Lucky enough for Sam, the edges of the four wounds were fairly clean, so I wouldn't have to cut away any flesh. It wouldn't scar too badly. As I got a closer look at the wounds, I saw that at the very top of the shoulder, the slashes were bone deep, and towards his hip and stomach region, they were more shallow.

"Alright, now what do I do?" The desperation still rang clear in Dean's gravelly voice.

I jerked my head towards the suturing box. "You can start at the hip stitching with non-absorbable suture material, but when you get up into the rib and shoulder area, stop. I need to stitch that with absorbable sutures."  
He nodded his head and began to work on his section of the wounds.

A little over four hours later, Sam's wounds were completely stitched up, and I was covered in blood up to my mid-arm. When I declared I was done, Bobby and Dean carefully moved Sam to the couch with my constant instructions. Move slow. Be careful with his right side. Lay him down very gently. Make sure his right arm is tucked against the back of the couch, don't want him to jerk in his sleep. After that was done, Dean let out a huge sigh. He looked towards me.

"He'll be okay, right?"

I nodded and looked over his sleeping form. "He should be just fine. He might need some physical therapy for his shoulder, but he will be out of the game for two months. Maybe more."

Dean stared at me, then gave a small smile. "How do you know about all of this?"

I rolled my eyes. "You knew I was in college, but you never thought to ask what I was studying to be. I'm studying to be a doctor. I have a year and a half left of med school."

  
Dean gave a relieved laugh, then dropped down into the chair behind the desk. "Of course. I don't know where you and Sammy got the brains from, but damn." He picked up the bottle alcohol from Bobby's desk and took a swig. His gem-green eyes turned serious. "Thanks, Jack. I appreciate that you did that,"

I shrugged. "Hey, you're helping me, and I don't mind. It's my job to help people."


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3-

 

“You can’t go, Sam. Your shoulder can’t take that.” I objected vehemently.

 

I looked at my twin, who was barely sitting up on the couch, and the thin sheet of sweat that covered his pale face. His eyes were glazed over with pain, and his breathing was fast. He wasn’t in any condition to go on a hunt.

 

“I’m going on this hunt,” Sam said stubbornly.

 

I put my hands on my hips and started to tap my foot impatiently. “No offense, Sam, but if you go on this hunt with Dean, you could get him killed. Or both of you killed.”

 

“She’s right, Sammy.” Dean said from behind a stack of books at the kitchen table.

 

Sam turned his head and glared at Dean, who in turn shrugged. “Just telling the truth, bro. You’d tell me the same thing.”

 

Sam managed to lift his hand and flip his brother off. Dean stood up from the table and stretched.

 

“You stay here, Gigantor, and your mini me will take care of you.”

 

I turned my glare on him, and he quickly threw up his hands. “Sorry.”

 

“Don’t you have some demons to kill?”

 

He nodded, and clomped across the kitchen to the staircase, which he quickly climbed. I could hear him through the ceiling as he began to pack his duffel. I turned my attention away from the older Winchester to the younger one. I grabbed a bottle of aspirin off the coffee table and shook a few white tablets out into my palm. As I walked around to the couch I swiped up a water bottle from the pack on the floor and sat next to my twin.

 

He stared at me through slitted eyes, and I could tell the pain was becoming too much for him to handle. I grabbed his right hand from where it rested on the couch cushion, and flipped it palm-up. I placed the tablets in his hand.

 

“Here, take these. It’ll help with the pain,” I said as he weakly lifted his hand to his mouth and dropped the pills in.

 

I uncapped the water bottle, but didn’t put the cool plastic in his hand. I lifted the bottle to his lips and ordered him to drink. When I was satisfied he’d swallowed the pills, I forced him to lay down on his left side. I put a pillow under his head and pulled a throw blanket up to his ribs.

 

“Now, I’m going to make some lunch. You even think about moving, you call me or Bobby. I don’t want you to rip those stitches.” I turned and picked up the TV remote he’d previously knocked to the floor. “Here’s the remote. Yeah, I know you don’t like watching TV all the time, but bear with me.”

 

I ignored his slight grumbling as I walked into the kitchen and began to make cold ham sandwiches. I set four plates down on the counter, and put a piece of bread on each. I began to layer meat, cheese, tomatoes, onions, lettuce, pickles and other condiments on the bread. Sam didn’t like mustard or pickles. Dean liked everything on his, and Bobby detested mayonnaise. 

 

I had just slapped the last piece of bread on the sandwiches when Dean came tromping down the wooden stairs, a stained green duffel tossed over his shoulder. He smiled at the sight of the sandwiches.

 

“Lunch.”

 

He dropped the duffel on the floor by doorway to the kitchen with a thump. Before he could grab his sandwich (I don’t know how he managed to tell which one was his), I lifted the plate from the counter and spun around him. Rummaging around the drawer next to the fridge, I gave a laugh of success when I pulled the Zip Lock baggie out. After shoving his sandwich in the bag, then dumping some Lays chips in too, I zipped the bag up. I handed it to him with a smile.

 

“To go,” I said.

 

He held the bag for a second, looking at it like it was going to explode, then smiled bigger. Before he could move, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and hugged him. He froze for a few moments, then slowly brought his arms up. He gave me a small squeeze.

 

“Come back in one piece,” I whispered in his ear.

 

His body rumbled with his whispered response. “I always do.”

 

…

 

I was sitting on the floor in front of the couch, dozing. The creaking of the springs made me jump and realize that Sam was now standing up, slowly making his way to the bathroom. I jumped to my feet .

 

“Sam! You could hurt yourself!”

 

He groaned and leaned against the wall, his left arm supporting him. “I’ve got this. I’m okay,” he stubbornly objected. Then he groaned again, and his knees began to buckle.

 

I ran over and gently pulled his good arm over my shoulders, supporting most of his weight. He tried to fight, but I soldiered on, pulling him to his destination:the bathroom.

 

“No, Jack… I’m fine.”

 

I shook my head. “Sam, let me help you, okay? Please trust me.”

 

I supported him to the bathroom, let him do this business, then once he was out, I pulled his arm over my shoulders again. He didn’t fight, just groaned, and leaned more heavily on me. The added weight barely affected me. When I was volunteering and working at the local nursing home, I had put on some muscle. I grabbed Sam’s left arm above the elbow as he slowly lowered himself onto the couch cushion, his left hand gripping my shoulder tightly.

 

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” I gave a smile as I plopped down on the couch next to him.

 

It was a quiet couple of minutes before I broke the silence. “I think Ghostbusters is on. Wanna watch it?”

 

Sam gave a tired laugh. “Who you gonna call?”

 

“Ghostbusters!”

 

…

 

“Jack! Jeez! You don’t have to mother hen me all the damn time! I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

 

Sam tried to bat my hands away as I pulled the hem of his t-shirt down. I successfully got the soft cotton over his bandages, and smiled at the steely glare he gave me. I then pinched his cheeks, just to irritate him more. “But you’re so sweet!”

He growled under his breath and jerked away, rubbing at the stubbled skin. But, as I turned away to take dishes into the kitchen, I saw the slight smirk on his face. My smile grew as I set the dishes in the sink with the rattle of glass hitting steel. My lips slowly dropped from their upturned position and into a frown. I looked down at my still flat stomach. There was going to be a… something, growing there. It scared me.

 


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

 

I woke up with a groan and a frantic dash for the bathroom. As I retched into the porcelain bowl, someone knocked on the door.

 

“Jack? You okay?” The voice was heavy with sleep but unmistakably Dean’s.

 

I nodded before I realized he couldn’t see me. “Yeah I’m-” A wave of nausea caught me off guard.

 

I didn’t normally have morning sickness, but when I did experience it, it was bad. I heaved again as the door was cracked open and a soft mutter was given.

 

“Damn.” His voice sounded choked.

 

“I’m okay,” I managed again as the wave ended and I collapsed against the side of the tub.

 

I managed to stretch up enough to flush the toilet. I collapsed back against the cool porcelain and closed my eyes. The nausea seemed to have ended, and I closed my eyes, grateful. The hissing of the faucet forced my eyes open to slits, and I stared at Dean as he wet a rag. He then crouched down in front of me and placed it on my forehead.

 

“This always happen when you’re pregnant?” His hair stuck up in tufts on his head, but his voice didn’t sound as sleepy.

 

I slightly shook my head. “It’s a very common thing to happen during pregnancy, but every woman is different, experiencing it differently. Me, on the other hand, I haven’t really had many troubles with it.”   

 

Dean nodded and held out a hand to me. I moved the still damp wash cloth into my left hand and grabbed his outstretched hand with my right. He pulled me to my feet with ease and gave a crooked smile.

 

After he left the bathroom, I looked into the small mirror above the sink and groaned. My skin was a sickly pale color, and dark circles floated underneath my eyes. I turned away from the mirror, shuffling out of the bathroom and back into the room I was currently calling mine and flopped face first down on the bed.

 

…

“Oh! You have got to be kidding me!” I huffed as I tried to button my jeans. As I tried again to button them, my hand brushed against something that definitely should have not been there.

 

I ran out of my room, past Sam who was doing better after a week and a half of recovery, and into the bathroom, where I slammed the door and ripped my shirt up to expose my stomach. I dragged my worn jeans down an inch to show more skin. My eyes were immediately drawn to the paunch resting between my hips. I slapped a hand over my mouth to keep a scream in. I’d known this was coming, that I’d be gaining weight, but it still shocked me. It was growing inside my uterus, and I still refused to believe it was anything resembling a fetus. The time was just growing closer and closer.

 

I was lost in my own head as I counted how far along I was. My lips moved as I whispered the months over and over again in my head. My hands shook where they gripped the edge of the marble counter. Three and a half months.  Three and a half months. I had spent almost three whole months looking for my brothers, and I had been here, at Bobby’s for almost three weeks.

 

I forced myself to stop gripping the counter and pull my jeans up. I opened the door in a dream-like state, still refusing to believe it. I didn’t want to believe it. Sam stood outside of the bathroom door, leaning against the doorjamb. Him standing there made me realize that it was real, and not a figment of my sick imagination. His worried expression made the tears filling up in my eyes tip over and spill onto my cheeks. I covered my face with my hands.

 

“Jack, what’s the matter?” His voice was soothing, yet was still curious.

 

I looked up from my palms. “Sam, I’m three and a half months pregnant.”

 

His head cocked to the side, as if to say,  “Yeah, that’s what happens when you’re pregnant,” but he then straightened up, a serious expression covering the confused one. “Oh. Damn.”

Another sob escaped my mouth and Sam pulled me into his arms without a word. I sobbed into his chest, everything I’d held in for the past three months coming out in broken sobs that were muffled against my twin’s chest. His hands were rubbing up and down my back in gentle motions, his chin resting softly on the top of my head.

 

My hands were curled into tight fists against his chest, his t-shirt completely soaked through with tears. As I hiccupped, my sobs winding down to sniffles and small tears, Sam’s voice reached my ears.

 

“It’ll be okay, Jack. We’ll figure it all out. We always do,”

 

I looked up at my twin with teary eyes, and I saw so much sincerity in his eyes, it made me believe him. My brothers would figure this out. This was what they did, after all.  

 

…

 

An hour later when my eyes weren’t swollen and red, and I had taken Aspirin to rid myself of a massive headache, I forced myself out of the warm, cozy nest that was my room. Worn sweatpants covered my legs, and an oversized sweatshirt hid any evidence that I was pregnant. As I stepped off of the bottom step and onto the worn wooden floor, I tripped and careened into the wall. My shoulder hit painfully, shaking dust off the wall and down around me. I looked back to see what had tripped me and groaned, holding my toes in my right hand. A pair of size ten boots.

 

“Dean Winchester, you ass! Get in here and put your damn boots away before I shove them up your ass!”

 

Dean cautiously peered around the corner of the kitchen entry way, a guilty look on his face. “Sorry, Mom.”

 

I continued to hold my toes and glare at him while he picked up the boots and took them upstairs. I watched him until he disappeared, then turned to see Bobby smiling at me from the desk. I softened my glare and gave a small smile as I walked into the den. Bobby again had a bottle of amber colored liquor on the desk and a shot glass in his hand. My smile fell and I shook my head.

 

“Bobby, all that liquor, it’s not good for you,” I chided with concern thick in my voice.

 

Bobby rolled his eyes and threw back another shot. “Girl, the last thing I have to worry about dying from is liver failure. In fact, it’ll surprise me if I do.”

 

I didn’t say anything, just sat down on a wooden chair near the desk and took in the den. It was cluttered with books and weapons, and dishes were scattered along the coffee table in front of the couch.

 

I looked to Bobby who had poured himself another shot of the amber liquid. “I’m going to clean this place from top to bottom, and if any one of you messy… men dare to even dirty it up and don’t plan to clean it up, I  will  chain you up in the basement with the demons.”

 

Bobby choked on the shot of liquor, Sam’s eyes went wide, and Dean, who’d just walked into the den, nodded. I smiled and stood up.

 

“Good. I’m going to get started. First with this level. I’ve already cleaned the kitchen, now I’m going conquer this den.”

 

With that statement, each of the guys claimed they had to be somewhere doing something, leaving me alone to clean. I smiled, then dropped it when I saw the state of the den. With a sigh, I got the broom.

 

…

 

When the guys walked in through the kitchen door, I was on the floor scrubbing the years of built up dirt and dust off the wooden planks. When brown work boots came into my line of vision, I stopped scrubbing and looked up with a smile.

 

“Floor looks nice,” Sam commented as he held a hand out for me.

 

“Thanks.” I said and took his outstretched hand and heaved myself up off of my hands and knees.

 

I dropped the scrub brush down into the bucket of almost-black suds and stretched my back. Dean had taken a seat on the couch, his feet propped up on the now clean coffee table. Bobby was in the kitchen, talking into the phone, his voice lowered and muffled.

 

“Okay, I’ll send the boys as soon as possible.” Bobby’s voice raised. It sounded tense as the audible  click of him putting the phone back in the cradle was heard.

 

He walked into the den, scrubbing a hand over his face. He looked up and shook his head when he saw our eyes on him.

 

“Okay, I’ve got another hunt for you two. Few states over in Thornton, Colorado.”

 

Dean sighed and laid his head against the back of the couch. “What’s the baddie this time?”

 

Bobby went to his desk and leaned against it with a shrug. “The million dollar question, boy. See, Rufus and I don’t know. There are several different legends, and they all seem to be happening down Riverdale Road, right off 104th road. “

 

Sam’s brow creased in confusion, and he walked over to the kitchen table and plopped down in front of the laptop. He quickly powered it on, and typed a few words into the search engine.

“Jogger’s Hill, Hell’s Gate, Phantom Camaro, Ghost Lady, Slave Ghosts. So many myths for one area. It  can’t  be possible for these all to happen at once.”

 

Bobby rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s what I’m trying to tell ya, ya idjit. It’s not supposed to happen like that. That’s what I need you two to figure out. Stop it.”

 

Sam closed the laptop and turned to look at Dean who shoved himself up from the couch and headed for the stairs.

 

“Wait. Wait! Just a minute.”

 

Dean stopped in his tracks to the staircase and turned to look at me, confusion written on his face. Sam stopped packing up the laptop and looked over with curiosity.

 

“You two are going in this by yourself? No back up besides each other? What happens if one of you gets hurt? You can’t go to the hospital. This is a huge hunt, and you two are going in half cocked. You’re going to get hurt, I can feel it.” My hands were placed on my hips, my feet shoulder width apart. I was prepared for a fight. No way they were going out there by themselves, no way they were going to get themselves killed, and I refused to let that happen when I could still help. And I  would help.

 

Dean shrugged and leaned his back against the wall beside the stairs. “And, what would you have us do, Jack? Call the cops? No, Sam and I are in this alone. This is our job.”

 

I shook my head. “No, you take me with you. I be your back up. You get hurt? I’m there to patch the damn boo-boo and stitch you up. You need backup on one of these damn hunts, I’m there.”  

 

Dean gave a harsh laugh and shook his head, raising his hand. “No, uh huh. Ain’t going that way, Jack. You’re going to stay here with Bobby, where you’re protected and nothing can harm you or that spawn you’re carrying, and Sam and I will go out and do our damn job.”

 

I narrowed my eyes and took a step closer to my oldest brother. “Dean, I’m going, and quite frankly, there’s nothing you can do to stop me. I have a feeling- no, I  know  this is going to kill you two. Let me help.”

 

Dean threw a look to Sam, who shrugged, the look on his face saying,  I’m not in the middle of this one, you two figure it out. I really don’t care which way it goes. Dean then looked to Bobby for some help, but the old hunter was on my side.

 

“I agree with Jack here, Dean. I don’t have a great feeling about this one either. You take her along, you two can keep her safe. And, she probably won’t do the  actual  hunting for you two. She’ll be there to help you and have your backs.”

 

Dean shoved himself off of the wall and stomped up the stairs, muttering curses under his breath the whole time. I shrugged and started up the stairs after my angered brother to pack. The way I saw it, he could get glad in the same pants he got mad in.

 


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

 

I was curled up on the back seat of the Impala when my phone vibrated once in my pocket, letting me know that I had a notification. I pulled it out of my pocket and looked at the lock screen with a little smile. It was the day Ingrid and I found out we’d passed the finals, and we’d gone out drinking. Huge smiles had graced our faces, happiness floating in our eyes. It was before she’d gotten sick, before I’d made the deal. I opened the phone and saw that I had a missed call and a voicemail. Both from Ingrid. I dismissed the call and opened the voicemail, pressing the phone to my ear. Ingrid’s sweet voice greeted me.

 

Hey, Jay.You’re not answering again, so I’ll just tell you what the doc told me. I had one last check up which I told you about in the last voicemail. I’m in the clear, Jay. It’s gone! I wished you were here to celebrate with me, but it’s okay. Truly. I know you had to look for your brothers even if you wouldn’t tell me why, but I really hope you will call me back. You can come to me for anything, remember that, Jay. I love you, bye.

The message clicked off, and I choked back tears. Led Zeppelin blared from the Impala’s speakers, covering up any sound I’d made. I’d told Ingrid that I was going searching for my brothers, and if she didn’t hear from me, that I was okay and not to worry about me. In the beginning, she left me alone, for a few weeks, but when she called and I didn’t answer, and then she called again and I still didn’t answer, she called more. It finally got to the point that I just turned my phone off and tried to forget about the calls in general. I had to remind myself of why I was doing this, not talking to my best friend, and causing her to worry about me.

 

I reached down into the floorboard and shoved my phone into my duffel laying on the ground, then grabbed the pillow right next to it. After placing the pillow against the door, I plopped my head against it and closed my eyes, hoping to clear my mind. I slowly opened my eyes when the music was turned down and Dean’s voice could be heard.

 

“How much farther, Sammy?”

 

“Uh… about another fifty miles or so,” Sam replied, refolding the map back to its regular rectangular shape.  

 

“Good, cause I’m getting hungry. What about you, Jack? Hungry?” Dean called back at me.

 

I sat up in the seat and rolled the kinks out of my shoulders, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror. “I could eat.”

 

Dean smiled back in the mirror at me, again turning the music up.

 

It was a little over forty-five minutes later when the sign declaring we’d entered Thornton came into view, population 127,359. Dean stopped at the first restaurant we came across, which just happened to be an Arby’s. After ordering the food and paying for it, Dean began to look for a motel we could check into. We’d been on the road for a little over nine hours now, and he’d driven it straight through with just a few stops every now and then, one when he had to use the bathroom, and another when we had to eat. Dean rolled through the quiet, darkened streets of Thornton, the music turned down to a slight murmur in the background, headlights on dim. He drove around for another ten minutes before he stopped and flicked on his turning signal.  

 

It had to be the seediest motel in Thornton, with a blinking sign that read vacancy, though only the last three letters of the word were lit up. It looked like it hadn’t been repainted in decades. Dean turned into the cracked and pot hole-ridden parking lot, jumping out of the car, and running inside, only to come out a few minutes later, holding two keys in his hand.

 

“Last room on the first floor. Two queens and a cot.” He gave a smile, his teeth a flash of white in the dark.

 

He then pulled the Impala into a parking stall and shut the engine off. I got out into the chilly night air and stretched, groaning as my joints popped. I grabbed my duffel off of the floorboard and grabbed my back-pack out of the trunk. I followed after Dean and Sam, walking into the motel. My eyes quickly took in the reception area. Just a rack of magazines that were at least forty years old, a simple desk that was covered in papers, and a greasy man who stood behind it. A sickening smile came to his face as his eyes raked over my body, taking in my yoga pants, oversized t-shirt, Carhartt coat, and simple tennis shoes. His smile made me sick, and his roaming eyes made me feel dirty. I didn’t notice that Dean had stopped to wait for me until I bumped into him, forcing me to rip my eyes away from the dirty clerk.

 

He gently pushed me a few steps in front of him, his eyes still on the clerk, who now noticed that Dean was glaring at him.

 

“You come near our room, and I’ll shoot you. You come near my sister, and you’ll wish you hadn’t. Got it?”

 

The clerk gave a jerky nod, and I couldn’t help but smile. I looked back at Dean who glared at the dirty man--literally and figuratively--until he flinched and looked away.

 

“Thanks, Dean,” I whispered as we followed after Sam in the quiet hallway.

 

“It was nothing.” He shrugged it off and walked into the open door of our hotel room.

 

I followed in after him and did a double take. The hotel room looked like the seventies had puked and no one had cleaned it up. A stained shag rug lay on the floor, an orange table and chairs set up in the corner. In front of the window, the pleather covering was cracked, showing the yellow foam inside that was slowly pushing its way to freedom. The cot was folded up in front of the TV (which had rabbit ears and probably no color), and what I hoped was a clean blanket folded on top of it. Two queen beds were pushed up against the wall across from the TV, a rickety nightstand placed between them. The comforters were an off white color, but looked mostly clean. Sam dropped his duffel down on the bed farthest from the door.

 

“You can have first shower, Jack. I’m going to move the cot beside Sam’s bed, and we’ll get started on researching in the morning,” Dean said as he closed and locked the door, throwing his duffel on the other queen.

 

I nodded my thanks and headed for the bathroom.

 

…

 

It was around three in the morning when the first grunt and gasp woke me up. I groggily looked up, shoving dark curls out of my eyes. When it didn’t happen again, I put my head back against the pillow, snuggling into the warmth of the bed. Another groan made my eyes shoot open. That was definitely not something I was imagining. I freed myself from the covers and pressed my toes into the shag carpet. I let my eyes adjust to the darkness engulfing the room, and stood, rubbing my bare arms against the chill. I looked for the source of the sounds. I first looked to Sam’s bed. He slept peacefully on his back, his left arm hanging off of the bed.

 

Then I looked to the bed Dean was sleeping in. The blankets were twisted around his thrashing body, another gasp escaping his lips. His face was covered in a sheet of sweat, a terrified look gracing his features. It clicked in my head then. He was having a nightmare. I shuffled over to the bed, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. I gently sat down on the edge of the bed, and laid a hand on his arm, feeling the clammy skin there.

 

“Dean, c’mon. Wake up, you’re having a nightmare,” I murmured in the darkness, shaking his arm gently.

 

He jumped slightly and his arm flew up. I barely had enough time to block the knife clutched tightly in his hand. I held his wrist firmly, my breathing fast as his eyes snapped open, the scared green orbs locking on my face.

 

“Jack?” His voice was hoarse, confusion making his brow furrow.

 

“Yeah, you were having a nightmare,” I whispered as I pried the knife out of his hand and set it on the nightstand.

 

I placed his hand gently on the bed and gave it a soothing pat as he stared at me. “It’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it. I get it.”

 

I started to stand, but a hand wrapping around my wrist made me stop and look down. Dean’s eyes were wide with barely suppressed panic, and fingers were clutching my wrist, fingertips nearly white from holding on too tightly. He seemed to realize what he’d done, and quickly let go. He cleared his throat.

 

“You wanna watch some TV?” He looked away, the muscle in his jaw fluttering.

 

I smiled softly as I plopped back down on the bed and pushed against his hip. “Can’t get back to sleep anyways, so scootch your boot.”

 

He gave a breathless laugh and rolled over the other side of the bed, allowing me enough room to climb on. I crawled in, making myself comfortable as Dean flipped on the TV, eventually finding some old Western movie to watch, a small smile making his lips turn up at the corners.

 

…

 

Dean Pov:

 

It was hot, the fire burning his skin, the smell of sulfur pushing its way up his nostrils and down his throat, gagging him. He screamed as he felt the white-hot pain of a knife slicing through the skin on his chest. His ears were filled with screams and crazy laughter. The coppery tang of fresh blood coated his tongue, running out of his mouth and down his chin. He begged for someone, anyone, to save him. He cried out for Sam, Bobby, even Castiel. His calls went unanswered, his prayers unheeded. He was entirely alone. Alistair laughed as he brought the knife down again.

 

“Dean, c’mon. Wake up, you’re having a nightmare.” A soft voice with a melodic lilt to it forced its way over the screams and into his ears. Jacklynn. What was she doing here? She wasn’t in Hell too, was she? No, she’s too nice for that. It must be another trick. He felt a hand on his arm and he jumped, his arm swinging up, knife clutched in a death grip in his sweating palm.

 

When his arm was stopped, fingers encircling his wrist, his eyes snapped open, searching for who had ahold of him. His wandering eyes stopped on his sister, who had his wrist in her right hand, the knife inches from her chest.

 

“Jack?” Talking felt like swallowing razor blades.

 

“Yeah. You were having a nightmare,” she whispered as she gently pried the knife out of his hand and set it down on the desk. She then laid his hand back on the bed and gave it a soothing pat. He couldn’t help but stare. “It’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it. I get it.”

 

She went to stand and he almost panicked, his hand snaking out to clutch at her wrist. She looked down at him, surprised, and he quickly let go of her hand, clearing his throat.

 

“You want to watch some TV?” It was the first question that came to his mind. He didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts and have to think through the nightmare. He looked away from her, clenching his jaw, not wanting to see her reject him.

 

Dean again looked at her as she plopped down on the bed next to him and shoved at his hip.

 

“Can’t get back to sleep anyways, so scootch your boot.”

 

He couldn’t help the breathless laugh that escaped his lips as he rolled over and made himself comfortable leaning against the headboard. He grabbed the remote and flipped on the TV, finding an old Western that he remembered bits and pieces of but couldn’t remember the name to.

 

He and Jack didn’t talk much, just little comments here and there on the movie. He made a comment about the gunslinger and the sheriff, but when it went unanswered, he looked over. Jack had passed out  at some point, her body leaning against his, her head on his shoulder. Dean gave a small smile and made himself more comfortable. He looked down at Jack, the baby sister he never got to know, never got to see grow up, and now here she was, needing help and yet at the same time giving it.

 

His eyes were drawn down to her stomach where the bump rested between her hips, getting bigger everyday. He ripped his eyes away from her stomach and back to the TV. He clenched his jaw. He would talk to Cas. He had to know something, had to be able to help her. That is, if he even answered his prayer. Or, hell. Maybe they were alone in this, Sam, Jack, and him. It wouldn’t be the first time the Winchesters had to rely on each other to get through something, and it surely wouldn’t be the last.

 

…

 

The smell of herbs made me wrinkle my nose, and I’d never heard the words the man spoke  before. He stood a few feet away in front of a rough wooden table, several things cluttering the table top. A dented metal bowl, several books, candles, herbs, and a knife. I tried yelling at the man, snapping my fingers in front of his face, and even jumping up and down, but to no avail. I stopped jumping and confusedly looked at him. Why couldn’t he hear or see me? A shiver came over me that I couldn’t repress, and that’s when I realized that I was still in my night clothes. Cotton shorts and an old, soft t-shirt that fit a little snug. I crossed my arms over my chest and shivered again, curling my bare toes into the dirt that covered the concrete floor.

 

Since it seemed I was stuck here, I decided to watch him. The man had hair as dark the night surrounding him,  and when he looked up and the candlelight caught his face just right, I could tell that he had blue eyes. He looked familiar. I cocked my head to the side as I tried to place this mysterious man, but came up empty. I watched in fascination as he finished chanting,  picked up the knife from the table, and sliced the palm of his left hand, holding it over the bowl. Calmly taking out a handkerchief, the mysterious man wrapped it around the wound, then lit a match and dropped it in the basin. I gave a jump as the ingredients in it sparked.

 

I felt a tugging sensation, and I was pulled away from the familiar man. I was slammed down, yelping as my bare knees collided with cobblestone. I groaned as I fell sideways, off my knees and onto my ass. As I sat on the floor and tried to ignore the stinging in my knees, I took in my surroundings. I was in an even darker room than the last, with only a few torches hanging on the wall to light the area. The smell of sulfur hung thickly in the air, and it was uncomfortably hot here. I could feel my skin begin to turn pink with heat.  A sudden voice made me jump, and I searched for its owner. I found him easily enough and I gasped, then clamped a hand over my mouth, scared they’d heard me. Then I remembered: they couldn’t hear me. I removed my hand from my mouth as I stared at the barely illuminated face. It was the greasy clerk from the hotel! What the hell? His voice made me jump and scoot away. I wasn’t one to scare easily, but his voice made my skin crawl and my heart pound.

 

“I will watch over the gate, sire.”

 

A voice came from the shadowed end of the room. “Good. You fail me this time and you’ll wish you hadn’t ever sold your soul.” The voice was British and commanding, promising horrible consequences if his orders weren’t obeyed.

 

…

 

I awoke with a gasp, my eyes popping open and my skin burning. I threw off the blanket that had been placed over me and sat up, wide eyed.

 

“Jack?”

 

I looked up into Sam and Dean’s questioning faces, their eyes heavy with worry. I swung my legs over to the side of the bed, and winced with the movement. I looked down in confusion, then gasped. My knees were covered in drying blood, and I pulled my hands up into my line of vision, looking at the scrapes on the heels of my palms.

 

“Whoa! Is that  blood ?” Sam’s voice rang out.

 

My hands were being pulled away from in front of my face, and my twin’s face swam into view. I could feel another set of hands prodding at my knees, and with a sharp hiss of pain, it brought me out of my daze.

 

“Yeah… I uh, yeah. That’s blood.” I gave a nod and swallowed thickly.

 

Sam looked at me. “What happened Jack? Why do you feel like you’re burning up, and why do you smell like  sulfur? ”

 

Dean stood up and grabbed his duffel which he started to rummage through. He produced a first aid kit a few seconds later and opened it, turning it over and dumping it onto the comforter. He grabbed the bottle of Peroxide, leaving the box’s other contents strewn across the comforter. I turned my attention from him  and focused on Sam.

 

“I had a dream. “

 

Sam looked confused for a moment, before he shook his head. “You had a dream? What kind of dream?”

 

“I was sitting and watching, they couldn’t see or hear me. First I dreamed about a man who was… he was putting things in a bowl. Different herbs and things. His blood, and then a match. He was muttering the whole time… I couldn’t understand what he was saying. It then felt like I was being pulled, and I was then dropped down onto cobblestone, causing the blood and scrapes you see here. This room was dark. Very dark, with only a few torches in the room, but just enough to see a face. The clerk. He promised to watch… a gate. Yes, a gate.”

 

Sam and Dean were both silent, looking at each other and having a silent conversation that I couldn’t understand.

 

Sam looked back to me, his eyes calculating and I could practically see the wheels turning in his head. “Are you certain it was the clerk?”

 

I nodded. “Yes, it was definitely him. I could also sketch the first guy for you, if you want.”

 

“You can draw?” Sam questioned,surprised. I nodded as Dean finished inspecting and cleaning my knees and gave them a pat. He pulled himself on the bed across from mine, next to Sam, and looked at me for a second. “You can have the bathroom first, Jack.”

 

I had a feeling it was so he and Sam could talk alone, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I stunk like sulfur, and I could feel the dirt and grime coating my body. I stood on wobbly knees and stretched, my spine popping in several places and my muscles groaning in protest. I crossed the hotel room to my duffel, which I promptly dragged to the bathroom. As I stood under the hot spray of the shower, I tried to ignore the discolored tiles of the wall and lather jasmine scented shampoo into my dark curls.

 

I stood under the water for another six minutes before I stepped out of the shower, reaching for the terry-cloth towels that lined the rack above the toilet. Wrapping one around my hair and another around my body, I padded over to the sink and swiped a hand down the fogged mirror. My reflection stared back at me, dark circles under my eyes, a slight pink tint still clinging to my skin. I turned away from my reflection and opened my duffel. From the duffel I pulled undergarments, sweat pants, and a oversized t-shirt. After I was dressed, I stepped out of the bathroom in a cloud of heat.

 

Sam looked up from his laptop and gave a smile. “Nice,” he said, gesturing to the towel still wrapped around my hair.

 

I rolled my eyes as I shook the now damp towel out of my hair and let it fall in wet, stringy strands down my back. That’s when I realized that Dean was missing. “Where’s the person who happens to be my older brother?”

 

Sam, who had returned his eyes to the screen of his laptop, again looked up. “Dean went to pick up breakfast.”

 

I gave a jerk of my head in understanding and sat down on the edge of the bed where I began to slip socks onto my feet. My tennis shoes quickly followed.  “So, what’s the plan for today?”

 

Sam closed the screen to his laptop. “Dean is going to question the victims’ families, and you and I are going to the library to research. One of the stories surrounding Riverdale Road is a Hell’s Gate.”

 

I cocked my head to the side as a thought occurred to me. “You think this is connected to my dream.”

 

Sam tore his gaze away from mine and focused on the shag carpet. “You’re my twin, Jack. When I was a baby, our mother died in a house fire. Pinned to the ceiling. Azazel, the demon that did it, infected me with demon blood. Dean and I have no idea if he did anything to you. We don’t know, and Yellow Eyes didn’t say anything about you either. We think Mary interrupted him before he could do anything to you. But we don’t know for sure. Jack, you’re our wild card. We have no idea.  My thoughts on this is that you’re completely human, and the thing you’re carrying inside you is giving you powers.”

 

I was shocked. I hadn’t known how my mom had died. None of my foster parents had known, and Jim and Martha had tried not to bring up the time before they took me in. Jim and Martha had been great parents to me, pushing me through school, and treated me like a part of the family. When they took me in, they had three children of their own. I could feel Sam’s eyes on me, but the opening of the motel room door stopped him from saying anything.

 

The smell of coffee announced Dean’s arrival by my side before his voice did. A Styrofoam cup with a black plastic top was thrust down into my line of vision. “Two spoons of sugar and a shot of milk.”

 

“Thank you,” I murmured as I sipped the piping hot liquid. I hadn’t told him how I liked my coffee, but he’d apparently been watching.

 

Sam drank his with a few spoons of sugar and half and half, and Dean drank his with enough sugar to give anybody diabetes. Dean tossed a sausage biscuit my way, causing me to jump and fumble the paper wrapped biscuit to the floor. He stared at me.

 

“Wow, you suck.”

 

I narrowed my eyes at him and unwrapped the greasy food, taking a bite out of it, chewing slowly. “At least I don’t swallow,” I muttered under my breath.

 

Apparently, I was heard. Sam, who’d just taken a swig of his coffee, spit out the scalding hot liquid, and began to laugh in earnest. His cheeks were flushed, and he was fighting to catch his breath. I looked down at my breakfast sandwich and began to pick at the crumbly biscuit, ignoring my twin.

 

“You want to share with the class, Sammy?” Dean inquired, raising an eyebrow.

 

I looked up from the sandwich and gave Sam my best glare, promising him with my eyes I’d use him as my test dummy if he dare tell. Sam instantly sobered up and shook his head.

 

“Just… Thinking,” Sam lied (rather horribly). I rolled my eyes, sipped my coffee, and began working on my sketch of last night’s magic-worker.

 

Dean’s eyes flicked back and forth between us, and he gave a short nod. “Okay…” He didn’t believe one word.

 

…

 

Dean dropped Sam and I off at the front doors of the small brick building, the words above the glass door’s reading ‘Thornton Regional Library.’ Dean signaled goodbye with a flick of his first two fingers and drove off to question Therma Wilson, the woman who’d lost her son, and Ryan and Lisa Jackson, who’d lost their daughter.

 

I watched the Impala fade into the distance of thrift stores, small diners, and a small grocery store before I headed after Sam into the library. The librarian was an older man with thinning gray hair, round glasses, and a hunched back. He was happy to show us where they kept the town history. After showing us the shelves that contained the information, we thanked him and he hobbled to back to his desk, calling over his shoulder to not be afraid to ask him any questions if we had any problems. After finding a table in a dark corner of the library, Sam and I began to tote books and binders full of the town history to the table.

 

It had to be at least an hour later when Sam’s phone rang, bringing me out of the book I was reading about the founders of Thornton. The stories that surrounded Riverdale road were just that: stories. No one had died on the road, no car crashes or women in white. So, how was it that these kids were killed by a phantom car that no ghost even existed for? The only legend that held any truth was the Devil’s Gate. After calling Bobby and asking him  if there really was a gate to hell on the road, we had our answer: the gate was the real deal.

 

Sam’s phone vibrated on the table, and he picked it up and put it to his ear. “Dean?” His eyes went wide, and he mouthed one word to me: map.

 

I scrambled through the paper strewn over the scratched wooden table top and came up with the only map on the table: Riverdale Road. I held it up, and he nodded. He then put the phone on speaker. I looked around the library and realized we were seated a good distance from the librarian, and there was nobody in the library besides us.

 

“Uh, Sam? Jack? I could use a little help. Like how to navigate this road!” Dean’s voice was panicked.

 

I could hear the reviving of an engine, and the squealing of tires. My stomach dropped. “Dean, where exactly are you on the road?”

 

“At the entrance! I just wanted to investigate this damn road when this… piece of shit car came out of nowhere!”

 

I pinpointed where he was. “Dean, listen to me. You have to follow the road.”

 

“What the hell kind of advice is that, Jack?!?! Do you have anything more you’d like to add?” Dean growled into the phone.

 

“Don’t let the car run you off the road.” I said as I scanned the map, following his progress.

 

“That’s  brilliant advice, Jacklynn. Why didn’t I think of that before?” Dean’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

 

I ignored him as I looked for something on the map that could help Dean, that would hopefully get the Camaro off his ass for just a few moments. Anything would be helpful. Another road caught my attention. It connected with Riverdale, and hopefully would throw off the Camaro enough for Dean to escape. I again asked where he was, and after I got my answer, I worked out quickly in my head how much time he had before he hit the turn which was half a mile away from him.

 

“Dean, listen closely. There’s a turn coming up on your right. You have to make that turn or you’re-”

 

“Fuck! I missed it!” Dean’s voice rang through, making my stomach roll.

 

“Fucked, Dean. Fucked. You idiot!” I dropped my head to the rough table top with a groan.

With no response from the idiot who happened to be related to me, I lifted up my head and looked over the map one last time, laughing like a loon when I caught a second break.

 

“Dean, if you miss this next turn, you’re dead. Turn right in another mile or so. It’ll lead you off the main road and back into safety.”

 

There was a grunt of acknowledgement, then murmured curses, then silence. I couldn’t hear anything, and it worried me. Had the line gone dead? Had something worse happened, and the phone cut out? I started to feel sick, and I knew I was going to throw up. Finally, a laugh, a laugh filled with victory and happiness erupted from the lone cell phone on the table. I smiled, and  then promptly ran for the nearest bathroom, leaving Sam with the phone. With one hand clamped firmly clamped over my mouth, and the other stretched out in front of me, I found the bathroom.  

 

I slammed the door open, and flung myself into a stall, not bothering to close the dented metal door behind me. Dropping to my knees in front of the porcelain bowl, I heaved my breakfast into it. After I had nothing left in my stomach and my knees were protesting from staying kneeled on the tiles for so long, I forced myself up and turned away as I flushed the contents of my stomach down the pipes.

 

I stumbled out of the stall, using the wall for support until I stood in front of the counter and the mirror. I studied the fake flowers decorating the speckled countertop and forced myself to look up into the mirror above the sink. My pale face stared back at me, a thin sheet of sweat covering the sickly color. My hair hung in limp curls around my face, and my bangs hung into my now-dull blue eyes. I turned on the cold water and bent down to scoop some into my mouth, quickly swishing it around my mouth and teeth, then spit it back down into the sink. Everything I’d learned in school about being pregnant said that morning sickness should be over around the twelfth week. Mine should be over. But each pregnancy was different.

 

I splashed water on my face, then stepped out of the bathroom. I slowly walked back to the table, a hand now on my aching head. At the table Sam had begun to put the books away, and looked up with concern when he saw me coming back.

 

“You alright?” He asked as he stacked books on top of one another for easier transportation back to their correct shelves.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just… tired.” I said it, and I realized it was true. I  was  exhausted. After everything that happened, and round after round of nightmares all night, I didn’t feel rested.

 

Sam nodded and stood up, replacing the books on the shelves and coming back seconds later. “Okay, while you take your nap, Dean and I are going to call Bobby and question the clerk.”

 

I opened my mouth to protest, to say that I could help, but Sam held his hand up with a determined look on his face. “No, you’re going to get some rest. Dean and I can handle this.”

 

I rolled my eyes but nodded, letting Sam lead my out of the library with a hand placed on the small of my back. When we stepped out into the bright sunlight, I squinted the Impala pulled up to the curb with a screech of tires on pavement. Dean called over the music for us to hurry up and get in. I had barely shut the door before he was speeding off and towards the hotel.

  
No one noticed the girl on the sidewalk give a scream as we entered the motel parking lot.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6:

Bobby Pov:

 

Bobby was busy answering the phones and making sure his house was as clean as Jack left it, when a knock sounded at the door. He grumbled as he dropped the pot he’d been washing back into the sink and wiped his soaked hands on a hand towel, which he threw over his shoulder as he grabbed his gun. He held it cocked by his side when he threw open his front door. On his porch stood a young woman. She had curly, bright red hair and warm green eyes that could shift easily to sharp, green gems. She had sharp features and cheekbones that could cut glass. Her features were softened by her pink lips and the smile that now graced them. She looked to be about five feet and a half feet tall  and wore dark jeans, a  Guns n’ Roses  t-shirt, and worn out converse. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite peg her.  

 

“Robert Singer?” Her voice was light and sweet when she spoke.

 

He sighed and un-cocked the gun by his side. “Hm. Must be a celebrity now. Yeah, I’m him. What can I help you with, and  please  tell me its the alternator in your car.”

 

She laughed, and the sound was musical. “Actually, that might need replacing, but no. That’s not what I’m here for today. I’m looking for someone. Jacklynn Smith?”

 

Bobby’s stomach dropped. This was who Jack carried a demon child for. “Ingrid.”

 

She seemed shocked, but quickly covered it up. “Yeah, that’s right. I’m Ingrid. Ingrid Jameson.”

 

Bobby stumbled back from the door.  That’s why this girl was so familiar. Her parents were hunters that died in a fatal car accident twenty or so years ago. Ingrid hadn’t been in the car; in fact, she was right here at the Salvage Yard when the police came knocking on his door, ripping the screaming child from his arms. She’d gone into foster care, and he’d lost track of her. She came from a long line of hunters, great hunters that he thought had died out with her.

 

He then realized he was staring at her, and she at him, and he shook himself out of his daze. “Alright, Ingrid. Why don’t you come in? Jack’s out with her brothers on a trip, but they should be back within the next few days. In fact, I’m expecting a call from Sam pretty soon.”

 

Ingrid stepped into the house, taking in the entryway, the cluttered den, and the sink full of dishes Bobby was still working on. She closed the thick wooden door, and stuffed her hands in her pockets.

 

“Jack’s room is at the back of the house, upstairs, last room on the right. If you want to go up there, of course. I’ll be making lunch in a few minutes, if you’d like to eat.” Bobby adjusted the trucker cap on his head.

 

She gave a smile, showing off straight, white teeth. “I never turn down a free meal. Thanks, Bobby.” She stopped in her tracks to the stairs and turned to look over her shoulder. “It  is  okay I call you Bobby, right?”

 

He nodded. “Bobby’s fine, kid.” He watched her walk up the stairs. The phone rang, making him jump. He muttered the whole way there about the trouble these Winchesters were causing him, that he wouldn’t die a hunter’s death. No, they’d give him a heart attack first.

 

He ripped the phone out of the cradle and shoved it to his ear.

 

“Hey, Bobby.” Sam’s voice rang out of the receiver.

 

“Hey yourself, ya idjit. What do you need?”

 

“I need more information on the Hell’s Gate. I need to know how to demolish it.”

 

Bobby smacked the palm of his hand against his forehead. “You can’t just demolish a Hell’s Gate, boy! Do you know how hard it’s going to be to find the information you’re asking for?”

 

A heavy sigh came through.  “I know, Bobby. Thanks.”

 

Bobby slammed the phone and continued his rant about the Winchesters being the death of him.

 

…

Sam Pov:

“Bobby’s researching more about the Hell’s Gate. We should probably get on interrogating that clerk.” Sam told Dean when they were back at the hotel.

 

Dean’s eyes wandered to the bed where Jack lay sleeping, her eyes moving behind her eyelids and her breathing even and deep. They’d both agreed they wouldn’t let her see their form of… questioning. Especially if this clerk was what they thought he was. A demon. Sam threw a duffel on the bed Jack wasn’t sleeping on and began to remove the items they’d need. Holy water, salt, Ruby’s knife, and the spray paint. He tossed the knife to Dean, who deftly caught it.

 

“You find us a room and get it ready. I’m gonna go chat up that creepy ass clerk.”  Dean gave Sam a smirk, then left the room, tucking the knife into the back of his waistband.

 

Sam made sure the salt lines weren’t broken anywhere, and that all the wards were still in place. As Sam looked for a room to interrogate the clerk, he realized that he, Jack, and Dean were the only ones in the hotel. All the other rooms were empty, the entire place a deafening quiet. Sam wandered the halls until he found the perfect spot: the basement. He jogged down the darkened stairway and began to search for a lightswitch. Sam then began to set up the room, drawing a devil’s trap in red-paint on the floor, making sure that there was no breaks in the paint lines. After that task was finished, he placed a chair in the middle of the circle. He admired his work for a second before he called his brother.

 

“Dean, hey, it’s ready. The basement.”

 

…

 

Dean Pov:

 

Dean stood in the shadows and watched the clerk. The clerk who did nothing except look through ancient magazines and run his fingers through his greasy hair. As he waited, he twirled Ruby’s knife in his hand. Why wouldn’t Sam call him already? How long did it really take to find a room? He just wanted to be out of this creepy ass motel and back at Bobby’s. He gave a soft sigh when his phone vibrated against his hip. He held the knife in his right hand and answered the phone with his left. He didn’t dare say anything, not even a whisper. He didn’t want to give his position away. Sam knew that, and his voice was a soft murmur in his ear.

 

“...The basement.”

 

Dean gave a nod as he hung the phone up and put it back into his jeans pocket, sliding the knife again into the waistband of jeans and strode up to the front desk. He didn’t say anything as he waited for the clerk to look up from--was that a  Home and Garden  magazine?--and notice him. Finally, the clerk looked up and stared at Dean with beady brown eyes.

“How can I help you today, sir?” His voice was a monotone, yet still made Dean’s skin want to fall off his bones and crawl away.

 

Dean shook off the feeling and smirked. “Yes, uh, hi. I was wondering if you could tell me what a word means.”

 

The clerk looked confused, and Dean offered another smile. “Please, I’m… I need help, and I don’t want to ask my brother ‘cause he’ll laugh at me, and my sister won’t know...” Dean pleaded.

 

The clerk rolled his eyes. “What is the word I can help you with?”

 

Dean scratched his head for a moment, and then snapped his fingers. “Christo.”

 

The clerk flinched and his beady eyes went black. He hissed at Dean.

 

It didn’t bother Dean. He just nodded. “See, that’s what I thought it meant.”

 

Dean whipped out the knife and held it at the clerk’s throat. “See, you’re going to follow me, okay? And we’re going to go on a little trip, you and I. Not too far, but not too close.”

 

He grabbed the scrawny demon by the collar and pulled him over the desk, scattering everything on the desktop to the floor as the demon tried to fight the stronger hunter. Dean clucked his tongue at the hissing monster. “Ah, ah. Stop fighting. You know it’s useless.”

 

Dean dragged the demon along until he found the basement stairs. “Incoming, Sammy!” he called down before he shoved the demon in front of him.

 

The demon toppled head over heels down the stairs until he landed at the bottom, where he was picked up by Sam and thrown into the devil’s trap. He tried to run, but he bounced off the invisible barrier and landed on his ass on the dirty floor. He glared daggers at the oldest Winchester. Sam then stepped inside the circle and forced the demon to sit in the chair and tied him up. He finished with the last knot and took a step back.

 

Once the demon was settled, Dean stepped forward and began to play with the knife, twirling it between each pointer finger. “Tell me about the Hell's Gate.” It was a command.

 

The demon glared up at Dean. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,”  it hissed. Then it spat.

 

Dean wiped the spit calmly off and managed not to gag, though it did earn the demon a punch to the face. “Oh, I think you do, you sick son of a bitch.” Dean slowly dragged the knife down the demon’s cheek, eliciting a pained scream from the thing.

 

It dragged on for awhile. Dean asking the same question about the gate over and over,  the demon denying anything that had to do with the gate, and Dean retaliating. Rubbing salt into the fresh wounds on the demon's body, making him swallow holy water, then eventually moving on to dousing the knife with holy water and salt and jabbing it into the demons ribs. Dean had raised his fist to deliver yet another blow when the demon’s cry made him stop.

 

“Wait! Wait! Stop! I’ll give you the information you want, but you have to kill me.” The demon spit out a mouthful of blood and a single tooth, leaving crimson streaks running down the sides of his mouth and over his chin, clinging stubbornly to his skin and trailing down the dirty column of his throat.

 

Dean slowly lowered his bloodied fist and arched a brow. “Really?”

 

The demon nodded, and before Dean could reply, something diverted his attention.

 

“Sham? D’n?”

 

Dean whipped his head around and, his stomach dropped. There, on the steps, was Jack. She had a bowl of cereal in her hands. She swallowed the cereal in her mouth before asking, “Watcha doin?”

 

…

 

Dean Pov:

 

Dean looked helplessly at Sam. They didn’t want their sister to see this, yet there she stood. Her curls were in a riot around her head, her eyes still sleepy, yet the dark circles were gone from underneath them. Her sleeping pants, patterned with everyone’s favorite bat, were wrinkled … and was that Dean’s  AC/DC  shirt? She stood on the bottom step of the basement, calmly eating her cereal, and watching the guys in the same manner they were watching her. She swallowed another mouthful before she gestured with her empty spoon around the room, and at the blood spattering Dean’s clothes and hands.

 

“You two have been very busy I see. Those blood stains are gonna be a bitch to get out.” She pointed with the spoon at Dean’s clothing.

 

When neither brother said anything, she wrinkled her nose. “Okay, I’m going to go now. The spawn is really craving  Lucky Charms and I’m all out here.” She shook the bowl slightly for emphasis. Jack then waved goodbye and trudged back up the stairs, slurping at the milk that was left.

 

Dean turned to Sam and shrugged. He returned his attention to the hellspawn in the chair in front of him.  “What was that you were saying?”

 

The demon glared up at the seasoned hunter. “I told you I’d tell you everything I knew if you’d kill me after I give you the information.”

 

Dean nodded. “Deal. Now spill.”

 

“There  is a Hell’s Gate here. I was sent here by my master to watch over it and make sure nothing entered it or tried to mess around with it. Of course, that was until  he showed up.” The demon’s bloody mouth curled into a snarl, displaying his yellow and bloodstained teeth.

 

Sam’s brow furrowed, and Dean asked the question they were both thinking. “Who is  he? ”

 

The demon snarled again. “I don’t  know . All I know is that there was a spell put on me and this damn hotel, and now I can’t leave this damn place.”

 

Dean thought for a second. “So, that’s all you know?”

 

The demon hissed, and Dean looked back to Sam. “That’s all he knows. We’ll see if he knows anything later. For now, I want a shower and fresh clothes.”

 

Sam nodded and both brothers headed for the stairs, leaving the demon screaming obscenities behind them. Dean slammed the basement door and headed for their room.

 

…

 

Jack Pov:

 

I was sitting cross legged on a chair with my sketchbook balanced between my knees and the table when the guys walked in, stinking of sulfur and blood. I looked up from my drawing and set down my pencil. Dean made a beeline for the bathroom, while Sam plopped down on the bed and moved his shoulder in a slow circle, wincing slightly. I furrowed my brow as I watched him.  

 

“Are you okay, Sam?” I asked.

 

Sam looked up, then gave me a smile. “I’m fine, Jack. I strained my shoulder, but I’m okay.”

 

I didn’t say anything, just put the sketchbook on the table and climbed on the bed behind him.

 

“What are you-” A groan cut his sentence off.

 

I rubbed circles into his shoulder as his body went limp and he made small sounds of contentment. I continued to rub with the heels of my palms until I felt the knots in his muscles loosen, then sat back on the bed.

 

Sam moved his shoulder, then threw me a smile as he stood. “Thanks.” Then his brow furrowed.  “Has Bobby called you? He was supposed to call, but the lines have been silent.”

 

I shook my head and watched him as he picked up the sketchbook from the table and began to flip through it, stopping at the sketch of the man from my dream. He then tapped the paper with the back of his fingers. “He looks like… He looks like Dad.” The sketchbook hit with an almost silent  thump  on the tabletop.

 

I studied the drawing of the man I had finished. He had dark hair that was in a fifties style part, shining blue eyes, and a strong jaw. I didn’t know what John Winchester looked like, but if he did look like our father, who was this man? Was he related to us in some form?

 

Dean cracking the bathroom door brought Sam and I out of our thoughts. He popped his head around the doorframe, a towel wrapped around his hair and steam floating out of the bathroom behind him. “Hey, want to bring me my duffel? I forgot to take it with me.”

 

Sam rolled his eyes as he walked to the bed Dean had claimed as his and picked up the green duffel from where it rested on the floor. Sam crossed the small hotel room and held the worn bag out to Dean, who quickly shoved an arm through the gap in the door and snatched it, then promptly slammed the door.

 

Sam glowered at the door that had been so rudely slammed in his face. “You’re welcome, Jerk,” he muttered under his breath.

 

A muffled ‘Bitch’ was heard through the wooden door.

 

I couldn’t help the snicker that slipped between my lips. Sam turned and slightly shook his head. “That’s Dean for you,” he said as he flopped into a kitchen chair.

 

“So, did the demon give you the answers we were looking for?” I questioned as I curled up on the cracked pleather seat I had vacated when the guys had come in, wrapping my arms around my ribs.

 

“No, not really. Though we do know that the Hell’s Gate is the real thing, and a spell was placed on the hotel and the demon, though we don’t know what  kind of spell it was. It has something to do with this guy, I think.” He gestured to my sketch. “Gut feeling.”

 

Dean walked out of the bathroom, drawing my attention away from Sam. He threw the duffel down on his bed and started to shrug into his field jacket.

 

“I saw a little diner on the way back from my little trip on Riverdale. I’m gonna go pick up some food. Y’all want anything?” Dean asked, hand already on the doorknob.

 

“I’m coming with,” I said as I jumped up and started to sling on my jacket. Dean’s comment stopped me.

 

“Uh-uh, Batman. Change first.”  He pointed at my pants.

 

I rolled my eyes and bent down to rummage through the clothes in my duffel. I stood up holding a pair of black yoga pants in my hand. “Wait here,” I said as I went into the bathroom to change. Once I was ‘presentable’, I opened the bathroom door and threw my sleeping pants on the cot.

 

I then twirled in a circle, and curled a lock of hair around my pointer finger. I then batted my eyelashes at the man who happened to be my older brother. “Am I pretty enough now?” I made my voice higher pitched and girlier.

 

Dean gave a short bark of laughter, then held the door open for me.  “Red carpet. You ready, princess?”

 

I snagged my worn out tennis shoes from by the door and slipped them on, using Dean’s arm for balance. I waved to Sam before Dean shut the door, then followed him out of the hotel and out into the chilly November weather. I shivered in my Carhartt as I slipped into the equally cold cab of the Impala. Dean turned shoved the key into the ignition and turned. The Impala roared to life and  Blue Oyster Cult   came pouring out of the speakers.

 

…

 

LeAnn’s Diner was a small, quaint place with a fifties theme. Unlike the hotel, this place made the past look good. The walls were white with a black and white checkerboard pattern on the edges, the tables and bar with red table tops and silver edging. The barstools, chairs, and booths were covered in red leather that wasn’t cracked. An old jukebox set in the corner, the King of Rock ‘n Roll crooning about his blue suede shoes coming out of the speakers. The waitresses wore poodle skirts, and the waiters had their hair slicked back. An elderly woman with long gray hair stood behind the register, her eyes a happy, shining blue. I gave her a smile, then looked at the menu plastered above her head.

 

“Uh, give me a Caesar salad, a double cheeseburger with everything, extra onions, large order of fries, and two large cokes. To go. Oh! And give me a big slice of that apple pie.” Dean gave the woman a winning smile as he jerked his head at the pie sitting on a serving platter on the counter. “Want do you want, Jack?” Dean asked as he pulled his eyes away from the pie and looked down at me.

 

I tore my gaze away from the menu to the older woman whose nametag read LeAnn. “Yeah, um, I want the tomato soup and grilled cheese meal, and can I get a pink lemonade with that?”

 

The woman smiled, showing slightly yellow teeth and punched the order into the register then calling it back to the cook. She then turned back to face Dean and I. Her smile widened as she stared at me.

 

“When are you due, hon?” Her voice had a twang to it.  

 

My eyes widened, and my hands dropped down to rest on the pudge located on my hips. Was it that noticeable?

 

She gave a laugh, the kind of laugh that drew the attention of other customers and made you want to laugh too. “Honey, you aren’t that noticeable weight wise, especially with that shirt, but you have a glow about you. You’re carrying a new life. All pregnant women have the glow about them.”  

 

I tried to smile at the woman, but I didn’t know if I quite accomplished it. The cook smacking the bell on the window saved me from answering her. LeAnn sat the food on the counter then she put a piece of pie in a to go box and slipped it into the bag with the rest of the food. Dean handed the woman one of the many credit cards in his wallet while I gathered the bags, slipping a plastic handle on each hand.

 

Dean had just slammed the driver’s door when his phone rang. He huffed and rolled his eyes, setting the drink holder on the seat between us. He jabbed his hand in his pocket and pulled the device out, looking at the screen with a furrowed brow. He pressed answer.

 

Even from across the car, I could hear Bobby shouting. Dean jerked the phone away from his ear, startled. “Bobby? Why haven’t- What?” He looked over at me, confused and taken aback.  I nearly laughed at his bewildered expression. “Wait. Bobby, slow down. I’m gonna put you on speaker.”  Dean pulled the phone away from his ear and hit a button. Bobby’s gruff voice filled the cab of the Impala.

 

“Boy, I’m telling you that I haven’t been able to get a hold of you for hours! The phone went straight to voicemail every damn time! When you get back here, I’m gonna bust your ass for droppin’ outta contact in the middle of a hunt like that.” Bobby took a breath. “But until then, I’ve got some information for ya. I talked to a few of my contacts, and one of ‘em said that a man--he didn’t know his name, no one did--that he put a spell on the Gate, tying it to something to prevent it from opening and wreaking havoc. But, since the seals are breaking, the spell don’t matter anymore, and soon, that thing is gonna pop open, lettin’ Hell’s best out. Demolish the thing it’s tied to, and you demolish the gate. For good.”

 

I processed the information Bobby had just spewed out, and it clicked. The hotel. They way it seemed stuck in time, the lack of signal, the demon there. That was what the Hell’s Gate was tied to. The demon was stuck there because of the spell. Something occurred to me. “Bobby, did you research for our hotel?” I asked.

 

“Yeah, girl I did. I called all the hotels in and around Thornton, asking for your known aliases, but negative. It’s like your hotel don’t exist.”

I looked to Dean. “The Hell’s Gate is tied to the hotel. We blow up the hotel, we blow up the gate.”

 

Dean seemed to process it, then nodded. “Will that do it, Bobby? Will that take the gate out?” he asked.

 

Bobby’s voice came through. “It should, boy. Just make sure you blow the entire thing to kingdom come.”

 

“Thanks, Bobby,” I said and Dean echoed my thanks, hanging up the phone and turning the engine over.

 

The Impala’s engine roared to life, and Dean sped out of LeAnn’s parking lot.

 

“Dean, can we make a stop?” I asked when we were stopped by a stop sign.

 

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Where?”

 

“Dollar General.”

 

…

 

I kicked the hotel room door open, letting it slam against the hideously-papered wall, and walked into the room, two bags of food in one hand, the drink holder in the other. Sam, who had been channel-surfing on the bed, jumped up and took a bag out of my hand. I nodded my thanks to him, and set the rest on the cluttered table. Dean strolled in a few seconds later with two yellow plastic bags in each hand, kicking the door shut behind him.

 

“Bobby called, said he’s been tryin’ to get ahold of us for hours.” Dean sat the bags down beside the food.

 

Sam’s brow furrowed. “My phone didn’t ring… And, I don’t have any kind of wifi,” Sam said as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and frowned. “I don’t have any signal.”

 

Dean nodded as he began to take the food out and pass it around. He then took a bite out of his burger. “Long story short, we need to torch this hotel. Jack’s gonna make a bomb,” Dean mumbled around the burger.

 

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Uh, why do we need to blow up the hotel?” Sam asked as he sat down at the table and cleared away papers and leather bound books. He then pulled out his salad and speared a piece of lettuce on his fork. Then he paused, food halfway up to his mouth. “And how do you know how to make a bomb?”

 

“Because it’s connected to the gate. It’s the only thing keeping the gate from bursting open, and if we blow this place to smithereens, we end the gate. For good,” I said, neatly avoiding Sam’s second question as I sipped my pink lemonade. I looked down at the food that was placed in front of me, and my stomach rolled. What had looked decent earlier didn’t now. Even the smell made me feel sick. I shoved the food away from me.

 

Dean gave me a weird look, while Sam nodded. “That make sense.” Sam said.

 

Dean cocked his head. “You okay, Jack? Something wrong with your food?” he asked as I got up from the table.

 

I gave a small smile and began to unpack common household products that could be used for purposes they most certainly weren’t designed for. “I’m fine. Just a side-effect of being pregnant.”

 

I began to pack up, putting the lore books back in the bag, shoving my clothes back into my duffel, and picking up any of the guys’ things I saw laying around the room. After that was done, I slung my duffel over my shoulder and held my Jansport by the handle. “Hey, can one of you help me carry the bags to the Impala? We really want these out of here beforehand,” I requested, gesturing to the four duffels still laying on the bed.

 

Sam and Dean both nodded, each grabbing two of the army green duffels. As we walked into the hall, I noticed the clerk, still tied up in the basement, had begun to scream again.

I ignored the cries that bounced around the empty hotel. We trekked the four blocks to the Impala and threw the duffels in the backseat and trunk. Dean didn’t want the Impala anywhere near the hotel when it went up, and I could understand that. When I entered the room again, I made a beeline for the table that held my supplies. I turned to Sam.

 

“Want to help me?” I asked.

 

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Why not Dean?”

 

I looked behind Sam and gestured to our older brother, who was currently crouched behind the bed, looking warily at us. Dean knew it needed to be done, that the hotel had to be blown up, but he wanted that  after we left the building. He was scared I’d mix something wrong, and we’d go boom.

 

Sam looked behind him and rolled his eyes. “Of course. I’ll be your helper.”

 

I smiled at him and handed him a pair of thick yellow gloves and safety glasses. I proceeded to slide the gloves on my hands, and push the glasses over my eyes. I looked over when I heard a grunt and saw Sam trying to pull the gloves over his huge paws. Finally, he managed to squeeze both hands into the gloves, and muttered something about needing to cut them off when we were done. I patiently waited until he was done complaining, then smiled at him when he finally quieted down.

 

I picked up one of the bottles and a small mason jar. After I’d filled each jar with the proper chemical mixture, I attached the fuses. I looked up at Sam, who smiled and wiped the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand. I pulled my gloves off and turned to see that Dean had gone and grabbed the shower curtain off and had wrapped himself in it, still crouched behind the bed separating him from the explosives. I took my safety glasses off and set them down on the table.

 

“Alright, now all we need to do is set these down around the hotel and attach the short fuses to a longer fuse.These won’t harm you, unless you set the damn things near or around fire,” I told the boys as I grabbed a couple up in my hands and began to place the jars around the hotel. One on the front desk, another in the kitchen, one on the upstairs balcony, as well as a few other places. Though small, these suckers could do a lot of damage.

 

After we’d placed them randomly around the motel, we attached all the fuses to one long fuse that ran through the revolving doors of the motel. Dean held the fuse between his pointer-finger and thumb, studying it. The demon’s demands for us to let him go bounced around the dingy motel.

 

“Have fun in Hell, dickwad!” Dean called out as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his silver lighter. He flipped the top open. “How much time before this thing blows?” Dean asked.

 

I shrugged. “About forty-five seconds, give or take.”

 

He gave a short laugh and jerked his head in a reply. He looked to Sam, then me.  “As soon as I light this thing, we run like we’ve got 5-0  and hellhounds on our asses. Everyone makes it out alive. Am I clear?” His voice had dropped an octave, and his tone was commanding.

 

I nodded, and Sam simply replied with an ‘of course’. Dean sighed and closed his eyes, and when he opened them, they were filled with determination. He spun the textured wheel against the flint and produced flame. He then put the lighter under the fuse, causing a spark. He dropped the fuse, and we all ran. In my head I was counting down the seconds. We’d made it to the sidewalk right outside the motel in ten. We had to make it all the way across the parking-lot to live through the blast. Sam was in the lead, his long legs eating up the distance quickly. Dean was right behind Sam, his green jacket flapping in the wind. Fifteen seconds were left, and I’d barely crossed halfway between the parking-lot and hotel, and I knew I wasn’t going to make it to the sidewalk on the other side. I just prayed that I made it far enough across the pavement, that the blast would blow me forward and not kill me. The wind bit at my cheeks, and loose pavement and gravel crunched under my tennis-shoes. 3, 2, 1. My time was up.

 

The explosion was deafening.


	8. Chapter 7

  
  


Chapter 7:

Dean Pov:

 

Dean glanced behind him, looking at his sister who was a few paces behind them. Her hair was flying all over her face, and her lips were moving, but weren’t making any sounds. He then realized what she was doing. She was counting. Her lips formed the word ‘one’ and her face went blank. Dean’s feet had barely hit the other side of the sidewalk when the flames burst out of the windows in the the motel, and he lost his hearing.

 

The explosion blew Jack forward, her eyes closed. She was passed out, he hoped. He also knew that she was going to hit the concrete hard. And on her stomach. Without thinking about the consequences, Dean jumped forward, bracing his feet shoulder width apart, preparing either to catch her or cushion her fall. The resulting collision sent them both flying, and landing on the pavement five feet away. The weight of Jack’s body on his hitting the pavement popped Dean’s shoulder out of place. He grunted in pain, but all that mattered was that his sister was safe. Her head rested against his shoulder, the pudge on her hips that was looking more and more like a baby bump everyday laying against his stomach. Dean’s good arm was wrapped around her back, and his other lay pinned under Jack. He let his head thump against the warm pavement as he closed his eyes.

 

“Uh, sir? Are you two okay? You, her, and that man over their just appeared out of nowhere running like you had the fuzz after you.”

 

Dean slightly opened his eyes and saw a little boy around the age of seven looking down at him with big brown eyes. “Yeah, we’re okay. What about that other man?” Dean croaked.

 

The boy shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s just layin’ over there in the grass complaining about… gates? Sir, what does he have against gates?” The boy asked in all seriousness.

 

Dean couldn’t hold back the laugh that bubbled to his lips. “Nothin’ kid. He just doesn’t like them.”  Dean replied.

The kid nodded. “Another question sir? What were you running from?” The kid asked.

 

Dean looked up, expecting to see the motel laying in fiery bits everywhere, but all he saw was an empty lot. There was nothing there except trash and grass poking through the cracked,  sun-bleached pavement.

 

“Uh… The motel?” Dean asked, his eye still searching for the ruins, but not getting any results.

 

“Nuh uh, sir. They’re have been no motels on this lot for a long time.”

 

…

 

“One the count of three, okay?” I said as placed my hands on either side of Dean’s left shoulder.

 

Dean nodded and leaned more against the side of the Impala.

 

“One,” I said, then pulled the hand that was on the front side of his shoulder back, forcing his shoulder back into place with a  pop!

 

Dean groaned in pain as he clutched his arm to his chest. “God, that fucking hurt worse than being thrown into a headstone,” Dean moaned as he slid into the passenger-seat of the Impala.

 

After I’d come to, Dean had demanded that we leave town immediately, explaining to us that there had never been a motel on that lot before. He let me pop his shoulder back in place, but only after he made Sam drive until we were miles away from Thornton. Sam had then pulled over to the side of the road, and I’d fixed Dean’s shoulder and made sure Sam’s nose wasn’t broken.

 

All in all, we’d made it out okay. Sam with a bloody nose from hitting the grass too hard, Dean’s out of socket shoulder, and then the road-burns Dean and I both suffered. It could have been so much worse.

 

My hand had just wrapped around the handle of the back passenger door, when I felt it. A small nudge right above my navel. I gasped, and grabbed my stomach. Sam, who had not gotten into the car yet, looked up, alarmed.

 

“Jack, are you okay?” he asked in a worried voice.

 

I swallowed thickly, and looked up. “I just felt the baby move.”

 

…

 

It was a long drive back to Bobby’s. With very few stops and breaking the speed limit several times, we made it back to the Salvage yard in record time. I gave a sigh of relief and threw the door open before Dean had fully stopped the Impala. I stretched my arms over my head, popping my back. I dropped my hands to my abdomen, my fingers spreading over the stretched t-shirt. I was starting to think differently about the child I was carrying, and it scared me. I made my way over to the wooden-steps, and had just stepped up onto the bottom step when the front door was flung open. My eyes widened at the sight of my sleep tousled best-friend. I took a surprised step back.

 

“Hey, Jay.” Ingrid’s soft voice greeted me.

 

“Hey, Ingrid,” I whispered, managing a small smile for her.

 

Before I could avoid her hug, her arms were wrapped tightly around me, her head buried against my shoulder. I hesitantly brought my arms up and hugged her back. Ingrid clutched me closer, and I set my chin down on her shoulder.

 

“I’ve missed you, Jay,” she whispered in my ear.

 

Ingrid pulled away, a happy smile playing on her lips. “You didn’t tell me you were pregnant,” she murmured and placed her hands over my stomach, fingers running over the worn t-shirt.

 

I put my hands over hers, stopping the movement, and looked into her soft green eyes. “We need to talk,” I whispered, and I watched as the smile fell and she nodded.

 

Ingrid threw a look over my shoulder, then started for the door. I turned and found my brothers’ eyes in the dark. Sam gave a encouraging smile, and Dean nodded, gesturing with his hand that I should follow her. The thump of my shoes hitting the wood were loud in the empty darkness. Both Sam and Dean followed me into the warm house and out of the chilly November air. The house was as clean as I left it, and the smell of something… warm floated throughout out the house. I smiled. Ingrid must have cooked sometime during the day. I turned into the den and smiled again. Bobby sat behind his desk, a lore book open on the desktop and a mug of coffee in his hand. He stood up with a smile, setting the cup down on a stack of books, and walked forward to wrap his arms around me.

 

“Hey, girl. I’m glad you’re okay,” he said.

 

He patted my shoulder and greeted Sam and Dean with a pat on the back, congratulating them for making it back alive. Ingrid sat crossed-legged on the couch, her hands tucked into the pocket of her hoodie, her eyes meeting mine. I gave her a small smile as I sat on the couch beside her.

 

Once everybody had settled, Ingrid asked her question. “What do you have to tell me, Jack?” Her voice was strong and unwavering, though her eyes betrayed her worry and fear.

 

I looked around the room, studying the guy’s faces before I turned back to Ingrid. “The things of your worst nightmares, the things parents tell kids about, are real. Monsters. They’re real, and my brothers hunt them,” I said in a quiet voice, looking at Ingrid’s face for any kind of denial, but there was none. Her face was clean of any emotion.

 

“It doesn’t surprise me, not really.”

 

I stared in shock at her, and she looked around the room, lifting her shoulders slightly in a shrug. “I don’t know why, all I know is that I’ve had this… feeling for awhile that there were things out there that normal people couldn’t explain.” Her voice was soft.

 

I nodded, then took her hand in mine, squeezing slightly and looked into her eyes. “You know when you were sick… and you didn’t have very much time left?” I murmured.

 

Ingrid nodded, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Yeah, the stage four breast cancer. It was killing me, and then it was just…. gone.” She said.

 

I swallowed, then looked away. “I, um, I made a deal. I found a demon who was willing to deal with me, and I... I made a deal, Ingrid.”

 

It was quiet for a few moments, and then all hell broke loose. Ingrid ripped her hand away from mine and jumped up, pacing the room. She then turned and the tears trailed freely down her face. “What do you mean you ‘made  a deal,’ Jack? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Her voice wavered, and she began to pace again.

 

“I made a deal for you to live, Ingrid! I couldn’t live without you! You’re the reason I’m here today! You’re the reason I went to Harvard, the reason I’m not on the streets! I’d probably dead by now if it weren’t for you. You’re the reason I got off the damn meth. You’re the reason I’m alive.” I ended the rant in a whisper.

 

I ignored the surprised looks on the guy’s faces and focused on Ingrid. “Yeah, I made a deal. I didn’t sell my soul, the demon wouldn’t take that. He wanted me to carry his child, and that’s what I agreed to. This baby I have growing in me is half demon, Ingrid. And that's why I’m here. To find my brothers. To find out what I’m going to bring into the world in a little over five months.” I placed my hand over my slightly distended stomach. I realized that… I didn’t want to hurt this child. Not so much anymore.

 

Ingrid just stared at me for a moment, then nodded slightly. “Jack, you’re my best friend. I didn’t want that. I don’t want it now. Hell, if I could go back in time, I would have talked you out of it.”

 

I smiled sadly at her. “You know that I wouldn’t have let you. Once my mind is set, it’s set. You know that. I don’t regret the choice I’ve made.”

 

Ingrid just stared at me. “I know that,” she whispered.

 

She then turned to look around the warmly lit den and smiled at everyone. “I think I’m gonna end this little… meeting now. It’s almost three in the morning, and I’m tired. I’ll see ya’ll tomorrow. Oh, and Jack?” she threw over her shoulder when she made it to the foot of the stairs. “We’re roommates. I’ve set myself up a pretty sweet pallet on the floor.”

 

I opened my mouth to object, to let her know I’d crash on the couch, but she lifted her hand and arched an eyebrow. “Don’t you dare argue with me, Jacklynn Danielle Smith.You will sleep in that damn bed because you’re pregnant, and I’ve slept in worse conditions." Ingrid’s voice had taken a southern twang and she batted her eyelashes at me. “Now, are we gonna catch up on the month we’ve been apart, or are you gonna leave me all by my lonesome?“  

 

I gave a laugh and looked to my brothers and Bobby. “I’ll see you all in a few hours. I’ll get my bags out of the car when I wake up?” I turned to Dean, who had poured himself a shot of whiskey and gulped it down just as quickly.

 

He waved his hand as he slammed the glass down on the coffee table. “Don’t worry about it, Jack.”

 

I smiled my thanks at him, then followed Ingrid up the stairs to the bedroom at the very end of the hall. In the bedroom, things had changed drastically. Ingrid had picked up the medical textbooks, dusty old lore tomes, and note/sketchbooks scattered across the floor and bed, and true to her word had made a pallet on the floor. It was several blankets thick, with several pillows. I gave a small laugh when I saw the small pink bunny tucked against her pillow. I’d bought that for her years ago with my first clean paycheck. If she was spending a night away from home, she always insisted on bringing the stuffed animal with her.

 

I slipped out of my jacket and threw it over the railing of the bed. I stepped around Ingrid’s makeshift bed to the dresser, opening the first drawer and pulling out sleeping pants and a tank-top. I quickly changed into the clothes, leaving my dirty ones in a pile on the floor. Ingrid sat curled up on her pallet, her bubble-gum pink painted toenails tucked under her knees. She yawned.

 

I flopped onto the bed and snuggled under the blankets. I curled up, looking at her. I smiled softly. “I missed you, Ingrid,” I whispered.

 

She smiled at me from under her blanket, her voice muffled by the pink bunny. “I’ve missed you too, Jay. Good night, hun.”

 

“Good night.”

 

…

 

The smell of sulfur made me gag, and the heat was burning my sensitive skin. My eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, and I gasped at the sight before me. Chains hung everywhere, and… People were hooked on those chains. They were screaming, and the things… the things torturing them were laughing as they dug their weapons deeper into the flesh, causing crimson blood to run and the screams to last longer. I forced myself to soldier on, my feet burning on the hot cobblestone under me. I tried to ignore the screams of the people around me, but it didn’t work. The screams were too loud, too pained. I knew that they were going to be ingrained in my memory forever.

 

“Sam!”

 

A voice screamed from in front of me. I stopped cold. I knew that voice. It was Dean’s terrified scream. I raced forward blindly, desperately trying to find my brother. He was barely recognizable when I found him. I stopped, my bare feet skidding on the heated, blood-slick cobblestone. I cried out at the image in front of me.

 

Dean was suspended by chains, hanging from hooks that pierced his shoulders, his toes barely grazing the cobblestone. Blood dripped down his torn body to form a puddle on the floor, under my feet. I tried to step out of my brother’s blood, but it was pointless. The blood was everywhere. I raced forward to get Dean off the hooks. I could patch him up, but my hands went through him, and I realized: I was having another dream. I forced myself to calm down and watch the scene before me, no matter how painful. A cut was made, pulling skin, then muscle off Dean’s arm, leaving white bone behind. Dean screamed.

 

A voice seemed to come out of nowhere, yet bounced around as if in an empty cave. “Join me, Dean. You’ll be off this rack. Torture, Dean. It’s what you want.” The voice was persuading, but so evil it made me shiver.

 

I waited to hear Dean’s answer.

 

Dean spit out some of the blood that was in his mouth, only to have it drip in a bloody stream down his chin. He slowly shook his head. “You can go fuck yourself, Alistair. I ain’t doin’ shit for you.” A knife flashed out of nowhere, and Dean screamed as more skin was torn from his chest. I cried out, covering my eyes.

 

“You will break, Dean Winchester. You will be mine.”

 

I awoke with a cry, Dean’s name on my lips. I threw the blanket off of my overly warmed body and raced to the bedroom door. I had to find him, make sure he was okay, that he was alive. I ran down the stairs at a breakneck speed, sliding around the corner into the den, where Bobby still sat behind the desk, Sam in the chair in front of him, the laptop balanced on his knees, and Dean perched on the edge of the couch. All three looked up as I stopped in the entryway of the den. I ran to Dean, my vision impaired by the tears gathering in my eyes, and all but jumped into his lap. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and buried my face into his chest. I sobbed loudly into the fabric of his t-shirt.

 

“Jack?” His voice was a mix of shock, confusion, and worry.

 

“Please tell me it really didn’t happen. Please tell me it was all some nightmare, some figment of my sick imagination. Please tell me you didn’t go through that,” I sobbed into his chest.

 

“Jack, what’s wrong? And, why do you smell like... “ He trailed off, then picked back up. “...Sulfur.”

 

I felt a hand placed between my shoulder blades. “She’s soaked with sweat, Dean. And, she’s burning up. Like with a fever. A bad fever.” I heard Sam’s voice over my sobs.

 

“Sam? Dean? Jack? What’s going on?” Bobby asked in a worried voice.

 

Another voice added to the mixture of the voices going on around me. “What’s wrong? What happened?” Ingrid demanded from the foot of the stairs.

 

I sobbed incoherently, my arms tightening around Dean’s shoulders.

 

“Dean, she’s running a fever and-” Two cool fingers were placed over my pulse. “-And her heart’s racing. That’s not a good combination. A fever like this could give her brain damage and possibly hurt the child. We’ve got to lower it.”

 

…

Dean & Sam  Pov:

 

Dean looked up at his brother. “What do we do, Sammy?” Dean asked him.

 

Sam turned and asked Ingrid, “We need to stop the fever first. Ingrid, would you start the shower, tepid water temperature please?”

 

Ingrid looked to her best-friend, who was sobbing in Dean’s arms, and ran up the stairs.

Dean began to whisper in Jack’s ear, trying to bring her out of the panic attack she was having. It had to be a dream. It explained why she was over-heated and smelled like Hell.

Sam ushered Dean upstairs with Jack in his arms, walking behind him to make sure Dean didn’t fall down the stairs holding Jack. Bobby followed behind them, throwing in his own two cents.

 

“Now, boy, to get her heartrate down, you have to hold her. Human touch’ll help calm her down,” Bobby told Dean in a worried voice.

 

Dean finally got to the small bathroom and made his way over to the shower, kicking his boots off before he stepped into the tub and sank down to lay on the floor, the spray raining down on them.

 

Jack started to shiver, but her sobbing was quieting down to soft cries, and her fast breathing slowed down.

 

“Woah, there’s blood going down the drain.” Sam said, then began to check Jack over, only to not find any kind of cuts on her. Sam looked to Dean, then up to Bobby and Ingrid who had crowded in. “She’s not hurt,” he whispered.

 

Finally, the crying stopped all together, and Jack lay quietly in the bottom of the tub, shivering slightly. Sam double checked to make sure her temperature was 98 degrees exactly before he let Dean stand up.

 

Bobby broke the silence as Jack stood. “What happened, girl? Why’d ya go and have a panic attack on us?” Bobby’s voice rang with worry.

 

Jack looked at everyone around the room. “I had a dream Dean was in Hell.”

 

Dean clenched his jaw and looked down, the muscles in his jaw twitching. He ignored the looks Ingrid and Bobby were throwing at him and focused on getting Jack out of the tub safely and to wrap a towel around her shoulders. Her curly brown hair hung down in stringy clumps around her head. Her teeth chattered together, and her eyes were still in a far away place.

 

“Dean was in Hell, strung up on hooks. He was being tortured, and…. I’m not even going to describe it, and... Alistair, I think was the name of the of the thing torturing him, offered to let Dean off if he helped... torture.” Her voice was quiet and shaky, and she shivered underneath the towel.

 

“Is that true, Dean? Did you really go to Hell?” Ingrid’s soft voice asked from beside Bobby, her eyes filled with sadness.

 

Dean gave a short, but confirming nod. “Yeah, I did. I sold my soul and earned a one-way ticket downstairs. No stops, don’t pass go, don’t collect 200 dollars.”

 

Dean noticed that his brother looked down, his shaggy brown hair falling into his eyes. Bobby had even gone quiet, his eyes lost in the past.

 

“Alright, enough about my tours. Let’s just get Jack back to bed and make sure she’s okay,” Dean said with a small smirk on his face.  He set a hand on Jack’s lower back, gently pushing her forward a step.

 

Jack stopped in front of Bobby, who put his hands upon her shoulders and looked her in the eyes.

 

“You’ll be okay, Jack. We’ll figure out what’s up with these visions into everyone’s past. It probably has something to have to do with this child you’re carrying.” One of Bobby’s calloused hands dropped to rest on Jack’s extended stomach.

 

Tears streaked down Jack’s pale cheeks, and she let her head fall forward to rest on Bobby’s shoulder, her body shaking with silent sobs. Bobby wrapped an arm around Jack’s shaking shoulders, his other one trapped between their bodies, his hand still resting on her stomach. Ingrid rested her head against Jack’s, her fiery hair mixing in with Jack’s dark locks.

  
Dean hung back as he watched Bobby smooth over the situation, easing Jack’s tremors and even earning a small smile from his wrecked sister. Bobby just had that power.


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry it has been awhile since I've last posted. I got caught up with things at home, with the Holidays and all. Anyway, I have up to chapter twelve written, and will be posting all of them now. I'll continue to post as I write. Thank you so much!

 

_ Chapter 8: _

 

I couldn’t go back to bed that night. Everytime I closed my eyes all I saw was Dean strung up, screaming. So, with my pencil in my hand and my sketchbook balanced on my bent knees, I sketched what I’d saw. When the big hand on the clock hit 12, and the little one on 9, I closed the sketchbook and set it on the nightstand.

 

I stepped around a sleeping Ingrid. She‘d stayed up with me most of the night to make sure I was okay. On my way down the stairs, the smell of coffee greeted me, and I jumped the last step, hitting the floor and walked into the kitchen, greeting Sam who sat at the table typing on his laptop. Everyone else in the house must have been asleep after what had happened last night.

 

I grabbed a mug from the dish-drainer and poured the caffeinated gold into it, added my usual sugar and cream mixture, then sipped at it as I took the seat across from Sam. It was he who broke the silence.

 

“What you said last night.... Were you really hooked on meth?” Sam asked as he looked up from the computer screen.

 

I took a drink of the scalding hot liquid in the mug, and nodded. “Yeah, I was. At twelve. I bounced from one bad foster home to another, learning how to live off of the streets. Meth was... an escape, I guess. From reality,” I murmured.

 

Sam’s brow furrowed and he shook his head. “So, either Dad didn’t keep good tabs on you like he said he did, or he just didn’t give a crap about what happened to you.”

 

I shrugged. Hell if I knew. I didn’t know John Winchester had tried to keep tabs on me. And, if he did, and he saw what I was going through, why the hell wouldn’t he take me out of that place? It just cemented what I thought when I was a child. I used to wonder why my father didn’t want me. Dads were supposed to love their children without conditions. And, that maybe my dad did have these conditions.

 

“Dad, uh, he actually lost her whereabouts around the age of five.” Dean’s sleep thickened voice informed us from behind me.

 

I turned and raised an eyebrow at him. “How do you know?” I asked.

 

Dean was silent as he walked over to the coffee maker and poured himself a mug, then reloaded the machine for another batch. He still had his back turned when he began to talk. “I was nine when the random trips to Oak Park, Illinois stopped suddenly. We’d go there twice, sometimes three times a year. I’d ask why we went there so often, when there was nothing to hunt there, and Dad never left us with anybody. He would ignore me and tell me to watch over Sammy, then he’d slam the hotel door shut behind him,” Dean said as he sat in the chair at the end of the old wooden table.

 

“I didn’t put it together until I got older, when I overheard Dad on the phone yelling about finding Jacklynn Winchester. Though, it was hard  _ not  _ to overhear Dad. He liked to raise his voice a lot. I guess you can call it a Winchester trait.” Dean smiled down into his coffee cup.

 

I sputtered a laugh through a mouthful of coffee. “You mean a  _ male  _ Winchester trait,” I corrected him.

 

I laughed at the slightly narrow-eyed glare I received. The sound of a camera shutter made me look up to see Bobby standing there with an old-style of camera, a slight smirk on his face as the picture was spit out of the opening in the bottom. He took the picture and shook it a few times, then looked at it.

 

“That’s a good one,” he said with a smile, and handed the picture to me.

 

Happiness was in the shot Bobby had captured. I was laughing, my head thrown back, my teeth gleaming in the morning sun. Dean was giving me a glare--though you could see the amusement in his eyes--and Sam was watching us both, smiling and shaking his head.

 

I handed the picture to Dean, who smiled down at the picture, then passed it to Sam.

 

Suddenly, a curse could be heard. I looked to the doorway as Ingrid came in, grumbling about stubbed toes and banisters.“Who wants food?” she asked as she limped into the kitchen, rubbing at her eyes and zeroing in on the freshly brewed coffee. She poured herself a mug, drank half of it, then set it on the counter and made her way over the fridge, pulling out the bacon and eggs.

 

“So, what did you tell the school?” I asked her as I watched her.

 

Ingrid pulled a cast-iron skillet from the cabinet above the stove and turned the gas-stove on. She then set the skillet on the heat. “I finished the work I had to, and I’m probably going to do the rest online.”

 

“Are you studying to be a nurse too?” Dean asked.

 

“Doctor,” I grumbled as Ingrid shook her head and slapped some bacon into the skillet, the popping and sizzling making my stomach growl.

 

“Nah, my passion is computers. Electronics. Anything that has wires, really. I love working with them. I also like hacking into things. Learned that little tid-bit senior year when Jay and I got suspended, and our grades dropped.” Ingrid said and threw me a smile over her shoulder.

 

I looked back to Sam, Dean, and Bobby who stared at me expectantly. I arched my brows. “What?”

 

Dean made the ‘go on’ motion with his hand. “Well, tell us what you did to get suspended. We’re waiting, and don’t you dare hold out on us.”

 

I couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled up and spilled out of my mouth. Ingrid’s tinkling laugh was heard from the stove where she cooked. “Go ahead and tell ‘em, Jay.”

 

“Okay, so it was almost the end of the school day. Ingrid and I were walking down the hallway when we saw Billy cornered by the lockers.”

 

_ Ingrid and I were minding our own business, trying to make it to our next class when we heard it: begging. We rounded the corner of the hallway and saw it. Billy Taylor, trapped against the locker between Matt, Dalton, and Ray. Their letterman jackets were a big flashing light for the meatheads. All three were on the football team, and all three had the IQ of a plywood board.   _

 

_ Billy’s scared voice rang out again. “Please, you guys. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t look at your girlfriend, Dalton.” Billy’s big blue eyes begged the meatheads to understand, but knew that it wasn’t going to work. _

 

_ Ingrid and I had stopped to watch the scene. _

 

_ “Well, you perv. It looks like the toilet really needs a cleaning, and your mop of hair should do,” Dalton growled out as he grabbed Billy’s red curls. _

 

_ Ingrid walked up behind the unsuspecting Ray and whacked him in the back of the head with her biology textbook. Ingrid took a step back as the meathead yelped and spun to find the offender. Ingrid looked from the jock to the textbook in her hands. She shrugged. _

 

_ “Hm. I always knew that these damn textbooks would come in handy,” Ingrid said with a satisfied smile. _

 

_ Ray, furious, went to swing on Ingrid. Before I could comprehend what had happened, my fist swung out and caught Ray’s jaw, sending the jock crashing to the floor, out cold. _

 

_ “You should know better than to swing on a lady,” I said primly as I looked down at the unconscious blockhead lying on the floor. _

 

_ Dalton and Matt both forgot about Billy, allowing the scared freshman to run, their attention now focused on Ingrid and I. _

 

_ “Righty-o then. You take Jock 2, I take Jock 1.” Ingrid said, and then it was on. _

 

_ Matt swung a huge fist at my face, which I ducked easily, and I kicked a foot out, catching him behind the knee. Matt roared out in pain, his rather impressive weight forcing him down on one knee. Ingrid had thrown her textbook at Dalton’s chest, knocking the breath out of him. A fist to the face had the giant stumbling back a few steps. Meanwhile, Matt had regained his footing, his beady eyes staring me down. I again dodged his fist, kicking out at his flank. It was a stupid move. Matt grabbed my leg, and swung my 125 lbs easily. He then threw me, my body hitting the wall with a solid  _ thud. _ I cried out in pain. I hit the ground, holding my side, knowing something was not right. Ingrid punched Dalton again, this time causing blood to spurt out of Dalton’s nose. _

 

_ Matt loomed over me, his legs shoulder width apart where he stood above my lower legs. _

 

_ “Wrong move, asshole,” I muttered as I brought my leg up, nailing him between the legs. He literally screamed in pain and fell to his knees, clutching his nethers. _

 

_ Ingrid dodged another one of Dalton’s fists, and again punched the meathead, this time crying out in pain and cradling her hand to her chest. The moment of weakness cost her, and Dalton swung, catching Ingrid in the jaw, sending her flying back. I moved to stand, but Matt’s huge hand wrapping around the delicate bones in my left wrist stopped me. _

 

_ “Wrong move, bitch,” he said in a guttural voice, and squeezed his hand, then jerked my wrist to the side. _

 

_ A  _ snap _ was heard, and then immense pain. I screamed. I ripped my injured limb out of Matt’s hand and stood quickly, kicking the still-kneeling bastard in the ribs. Ingrid had also regained her feet and stomped on Dalton’s foot. He curled in on himself, and she brought her knee up, nailing him in the face. He fell back, out cold. Ingrid looked over at me, taking deep breaths. _

 

_ “You okay, Jay?” Her voice was tight with pain. _

 

_ I winced as I took another breath as it caused my ribs to protest in fiery pain. _

 

_ “I’m not bad, but not great either." I muttered as we both limped down the hallway. _

 

“Wait, what happened after that?” Sam asked after I had finished the story.

 

I smiled at him, then looked up at Ingrid, who had finished cooking during the story and set the table. Dean had begun to dig in, filling his plate with a heap of eggs and several pieces of bacon. Since there were no more chairs, Bobby leaned against the counter, drinking coffee and smiling. Ingrid leaned against my side, munching on a piece of bacon in her hand.

 

“Yeah, we got caught. Sent to the principal's office.” Ingrid said.

 

_ Ingrid and I sat outside the principal's office, Mrs. Parks at the front desk staring us down. I waved at the harridan, and Ingrid smiled, letting her blood-stained teeth show. Mrs. Parks huffed, fluffed her poofy white hair, and went back to doing her usual. Nothing but buffing the claws she called nails. Finally, the phone on Mrs. Parks desk rang, and she picked it up. _

 

_ After a few seconds of listening, she set the phone back into the cradle and looked over to us. _

 

_ “Mr. Marks is ready to see you two,” she said in a smoke-roughened voice, smirking at us, showing crooked, stained, yellow teeth. _

 

_ Ingrid and I stood, both with difficulty, leaning against each other for support. We hobbled into Mr. Marks’ office, watching as the old lecher looked us up and down with a sick smile. His gray combover was greasy and stuck to his balding head, and he struggled to breathe under his massive torso, which was caused by too much McDonalds and not enough exercise.  He gave a smile that disgusted me to my core.     _

 

_ “Ingrid Jameson and Jacklynn Smith. How nice of you two to be in my office. Sit. Tell me, how did you two get hurt?” For a man of his size, Mr. Marks had an oddly high voice. _

 

_ Ingrid and I reluctantly sat in the two chairs set in front of the polished wood desk, while Ingrid answered his question. “You, see Mr. Marks, I tripped down the stairs, accidentally taking Jay down with me. Luckily, those meat- I mean, the football players were there at the bottom to catch us. Though, I am sorry for breaking Mr. Dalton’s nose on the way down. Such a sad thing. I sure hope he forgives me,” Ingrid said in her sweetest voice. _

 

_ Mr. Marks shook his head. “Those boys say something different. They say you attacked them. That you, Miss Jameson, hit Ray across the head with a biology textbook.” _

 

_ Ingrid smiled sweetly at the principal, while I kept my expression neutral. _

 

_ “You girls will be suspended for ten days. I hope you will have enough credits to graduate.” Mr. Marks snidely smiled and folded his hands on his huge stomach. _

 

_ Ingrid stood up, then held her good hand out to me to help me up. I leaned against her as we worked our way out of the room. At the door, Ingrid turned, and with her good hand, she flipped Marks off. _

 

_ “Have a fabulous day,” she tossed over her shoulder. _

 

Bobby, Sam, and Dean were all laughing, faces red.

 

“You really told him to have a fabulous day after you flipped him the bird?” Dean asked as he wiped tears from his eyes.

 

Ingrid nodded and sipped from her coffee. I stuck a piece of bacon into my mouth and chewed.

 

“We got our credits, and those douche bags didn’t look at us twice. Though, Dalton’ll have a crooked nose for the rest of his life. Unless he got plastic surgery,” I muttered through eggs.

 

“That was delicious. Best food I’ve had in a long while,” Dean said as he polished off his food and shoved his plate away from him.

 

Ingrid smiled and grabbed his plate, taking it to the kitchen sink. “Thanks, babe.” She threw a flirtatious smile over her shoulder.

 

Dean raised an eyebrow. When Ingrid turned around, he proceeded to asses her assets. He studied where her yoga pants hugged her legs just right, and how the fabric molded around her rear end. I watched him silently, Sam and Bobby doing the same. Finally, tired of it, I stood up and softly slapped the back of his head. He started and looked up at me.

 

“What?” he asked with a slight whine.

 

I didn’t say anything, just arched a brow and walked out of the kitchen. Before I made it to the den, the sound of wing-flaps made me still, and in front of me stood a man who had about four inches on me, raven hair, and big blue eyes. My heart started to race, and I realized that it was not a good thing. I was very much attracted to this man… being, standing before me.

 

I just didn’t expect him to try and kill me. His hand wrapped around my throat, and he slammed me against Bobby’s wall hard enough to crack the plaster and shake the picture frames. They fell to the floor, glass shattering.

A chaos of voices erupted from the kitchen.

 

“Cas! What the fuck are you doing? Put her down!” Dean’s voice roared from the doorway.

 

I didn’t move my eyes away from my attacker to look at my brothers. I stared him down as his fingers continued to tighten, cutting off my oxygen. I knew in mere seconds I would pass out from the lack of oxygen.

 

“Cas, let go of Jack!” Sam’s voice said from beside Dean’s, and a hand was placed on Cas’s arm, above his elbow.

 

Dean came around the other side, wrapping his arm around Cas’s torso. Between the two of them, they managed to pull Cas back just far enough to allow me to escape from his iron grip.

 

I dropped to the floor, gasping for air. I looked up just in time to see the man, Cas, throw them off, sending them flying in opposite directions. Sam went towards the front door, where he slammed against the wall, and Dean towards the back of the house, careening off the back wall and rolling to the floor. As Cas came closer, I wrapped my arms protectively around my torso, glaring at the man looming above me.

 

“I will not let you hurt my baby. I  _ will  _ kill you first,” I hissed out, staring up at the offender.

 

He reached towards me, probably to burn my brain out, but he suddenly hesitated. His hand began to shake ever so slightly, and he looked… confused? He stepped back, shaking his head. He suddenly reminded me of a lost puppy, and I resisted the urge to giggle hysterically.

 

“I cannot hurt this human. I do not know why. What are you?” he asked in a gravelly voice that made my insides quiver and melt, and I had to remind myself that just a minute ago he wanted to kill me.

 

I felt arms snake around my torso and drag me back. I looked up to see that Dean had dragged me back, bringing me into the safety of his embrace. His heart thundered under my ear, and his hand rested protectively on the bump that was my child. I looked up at the sound of feet running across the wooden floor to see Ingrid drop beside me, her fingers gently lifting my chin and examining my throat.

“You okay, Jay?” Ingrid whispered as she brushed the curls out of my eyes.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine. What about you, Dean? And Sam?” I asked as the flashback of both my brother’s whom I had come to care about flying across the house, smacking into the walls. I clutched at Dean’s arm tighter, my other hand reaching for Ingrid’s.

 

Dean ignored my question, instead asking a question of his own. “Cas, what are you doing here? Now? I prayed to you days ago.”

 

Cas looked down at us as Sam and Bobby both joined our little group on the floor. Bobby stood beside and in front of us, eyeing the… being warily. Sam crouched down himself, resting one hand on my shoulder, the other on my bent knee.

 

“I could not come until now,” Castiel stated. “Heaven has had me on other missions.”

 

“Wait. Heaven? Like an angel?” I asked as I looked back at Dean.

 

“Yes, angels. They’re not very friendly, tend to be stuck up. Dicks basically.” Dean replied without taking his eyes off the… angel.

 

Dean slowly began to stand up, pulling me into a standing position. I slowly released my hold on his arm and stepped away from him to stand freely on my own.  

 

“What did you pray to me for, Dean? I am very busy,” Cas stated in a commanding tone.

 

“Well, I originally had wanted to ask about what Jack was carrying. But you seem hell-bent to kill Jack and her... offspring.” Dean snapped.

 

Cas flicked his eyes over to me, his gaze locking with mine. He hurriedly returned his eyes to Dean’s.

 

“Just like any angel can have a child with a human, so can a demon. Both are considered evil and are to be exterminated immediately,” Cas said with conviction.

 

“They’re still half human. They’re good, because that human keeps them that way. This baby-” I placed my hands on my stomach. “-is just a baby who didn’t ask to be born into this. This child is innocent.” I knew I’d denied everything he’d just said, and I knew I was probably defying God himself.

 

Cas considered what I had just said with a small nod. “The child might be good, and you might raise this child in the correct way, but by Heaven’s rule, which is what I obey, I am required to… Eliminate the threat.”

 

I could feel unshed tears starting to burn my eyes. “You just don’t get it, do you? You cannot harm this child! If anything tries to harm the child, Ingrid drops dead!” I cried out.

 

Ingrid had stepped up beside me, taking my hand in hers, offering comfort and strength at the same time. I felt measurably better.

 

Cas cocked his head. “Are you talking about the deal you made with the demon? I can easily heal your friend and ensure she lives,” Cas said like it was obvious.

 

My eyes widened and I turned back to look at Sam, Dean, and Bobby. It was Bobby who spoke. “You do what you think is best, girl. You do what you think you’ll be able to handle when it’s all said and done,” Bobby said with an encouraging smile.

 

A flutter near my navel cemented my answer. There was an innocent, very much alive child under my care. The deal was no longer a form of protection. It was up to me.

 

“So, Jack? What do you say?” Sam asked from behind me in a quiet voice.

 

I looked Cas in the eyes. “No. I’m done making deals,” I whispered, yet was firm in my answer.

 

The room had gone completely silent when Cas spoke. “You know this child will cause your death, correct?”

 

Before I could tell the angel to fuck off, Sam spoke up from the back, moving forward with each word until he stood a step in front of me. “We’ll protect Jack, you don’t need to worry about that. We support her  _ and _ the child, no matter our personal thoughts. Because she’s family. We’ll protect them both,” Sam told the angel, looking into his eyes and making sure Cas understood.

 

I jumped when Sam let his hand fall onto my belly, his huge paw spanning to cover most of where the baby rested. “The only reason I’m alive is because Dean didn’t kill me when Dad told him to. He had the belief that I wouldn’t go darkside. I’m putting that same belief into this child. He has Winchester blood in him.”

 

“We’re gonna need a angel on our side,” Dean hinted to Cas.

 

Castiel looked reluctant, but also a bit relieved that he wouldn’t have to kill me.  “I hope you know I’m breaking Heaven’s rule, not only by not killing this child, but also by hiding and protecting it.” He sighed. “I’ll do what I can. I’ll ward the house against angels, leaving a… I believe humans call it a loophole for myself,” Cas said, then looked to me pointedly. “No leaving the house, Jacklynn. If you leave here and a angel finds you, the angel will kill you and your child. Please stay here until I find a way to ward you personally.”

  
If this was the price of keeping myself and the child safe, I would take it. I nodded.


	10. Chapter 9

_ Chapter 9: _

“Mr. Swayze can rock my world any day,” I declared as I shoved a handful of popcorn in my mouth.

 

Ingrid gave a laugh and spoke around her own popcorn.“You into necrophilia now, Jay? He’s been dead for awhile.”

 

I playfully jabbed my elbow into her ribs, both of us laughing. It had been a week and a half since Cas put me on house arrest, and the guys had just gotten back from a hunt. I was bigger around the waist now, being a four and a half months pregnant, and stealing my brothers’ t-shirts had become a daily thing.

 

“What are you two-” Sam paused in the doorway. “Is that my shirt?”

 

I swallowed the popcorn in my mouth. “Nope.”

 

He just shook his head. “All the blood is going to rush to your heads,” Sam pointed out, waving his hand at our positions.

 

Ingrid and I were both sitting upside down on the couch, our legs stretched out against the wall, a bowl of popcorn sitting between us, and bits of popcorn littering the floor from where we had thrown it at each other. We were watching the Patrick Swayze marathon on TV and mimicking the characters.

 

As Sam stepped forward to see what we were watching, Swayze said his most famous line.

 

I lowered my voice, saying it along with him. “Nobody puts Baby in the corner.” Ingrid and I laughed.

 

“I’m really craving ice cream,” I stated and began to wiggle, trying to get up but realizing quickly that I was stuck. I couldn’t really bend forward due to the child currently residing in my uterus. I sighed.

 

“Need some help there, Jack?” Sam asked, and I didn’t have to look at him to know that he was smiling.

 

“Yes. And you can quit your smirking, Sam Winchester,” I said, struggling to sit up. I gave up and sighed.  “Please?” I asked.

 

“Just because I’m a good person,” he said with a hitch of laughter in his voice.

 

“Oh, yes. Thank you, Saint Samuel.” I said as Sam put his hands under my arms and hauled me we without problem to my feet.  

 

I patted his arm and made to walk around him towards the kitchen, when I felt it.  _ It  _ was an actual kick, just to the right of my belly button. I gasped, my hands falling to rest on my stomach.

 

“Jack? You okay?” Sam asked as he stepped next to me worriedly.

 

I heard the couch creak and knew that Ingrid had gotten up.

 

“Shh. Don’t talk. Just feel,” I ordered as I grabbed his hand and placed it where the baby had just kicked, letting out an elated laugh when he kicked again. Sam jumped, but he too laughed. I placed Ingrid’s hand beside Sam’s.

 

“I can’t wait to meet him or her,” Ingrid whispered and wrapped her arm around my shoulders.

 

We stood quiet for a few more seconds until my craving for ice cream reappeared. “Okay, ice cream. Anybody else want some?” I asked as I gently moved away from Ingrid and Sam, and resumed my previous destination: the kitchen.

 

My bare feet padded over the cool tile in Bobby’s kitchen, the setting sun slanting through the window over the sink. The house was quiet besides the TV in living room and Ingrid and Sam softly talking. Bobby had gone shopping for groceries, and Dean was out in the garage working on some car. I pulled the freezer door open and pulled out the neapolitan ice cream from where it was wedged between the side of the freezer and a long-expired tv dinner.

 

I scooped a generous amount into a large bowl and grabbed a spoon. I stuck the spoon in the  cool treat and made my way towards the living room where only Sam where remained. I raised a brow. “Where’s my redhead best-friend?” I asked as I sat down on the couch next to him.

 

He shrugged. “I think she said something about finding Dean.”

 

_ Ingrid Pov: _

She shivered in the cool November air. The walk from Bobby’s house to the garage wasn’t a long one, but the early winter wind pierced easily through her thin jacket, making for a rather unpleasant trip. Goosebumps raised on her legs, and she wrapped her arms around her torso, thankful that she was nearly to the garage. As she drew closer to the small outbuilding, she heard the muffled sound of old country music and the clang of metal on metal. She paused outside just long enough to fix her hair and straighten her shirt, then opened the doors and stepped inside. Ingrid was greeted with a blast of warm air, and she took a moment to relish it. Then she stepped forward, moving around the rusted old Cadillac that took up most of the small building. Carefully stepping around the random tools and grease-stained rags that littered the floor, she walked toward the back of the garage, where most of the clanging could be heard.

 

Walking up, she saw that Dean was on a creeper, half buried under the car. She took a moment to appreciate the sizeable package that was easily visible beneath his tight jeans. Suddenly, a hand popped out from under the Cadillac, blindly groping on the ground for the socket wrench that had been previously discarded. She reached down and picked it up, turning it over in her hands briefly before pressing it into Dean’s. He jumped, and the sound of his head hitting the underside of the car could be heard, along with a (very manly) yelp. He slid out from under the car, a scathing insult undoubtedly forming on his lips, but he paused when he saw her.

 

“Hi,” he said, an appreciative smirk playing at his lips as he looked her up and down. His eyes lingered on the curves of her hips.

 

“Hi yourself,” Ingrid replied, smirking down at him. Dean’s mouth went dry. He gulped, but recovered himself quickly.

 

“So what’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?” he teased. He slowly pushed himself up, standing in front of her. It was Ingrid’s turn for her mouth to go dry. Sweaty and streaked with grease, dressed only in jeans and an old wifebeater, Dean was undoubtedly one of the most attractive men she’d ever known. Add in his brilliant green eyes, styled hair, and sculpted muscles, he was, to put it simply, smoking hot. Her eyes traveled from his pretty face, over his stubble-coated jaw, down the column of his throat, and she had the sudden desire to nip at his skin right where his neck met with his round shoulder. She looked back up and saw the hungry look in Dean’s eyes. Her own eyes darkened, and suddenly they were pressed against one another, lips crushing together, teeth clashing, tongues wrestling for dominance.

 

Dean put his arms around her waist, pushing her back until she hit the counter. Tools rattled, dangerously close to falling off the workbench, but neither of them really cared, more focused on the clash of lips and teeth. Ingrid tugged Dean’s shirt up, needing more skin-on-skin contact. He lifted up his arms, reluctantly breaking their kiss, and tossed the shirt off to the side. She immediately ran her hands over his exposed chest, stroking over the muscles here, lightly scratching at his nipple. He gasped slightly, and she gave into her desires, moving her mouth down to his neck, gently biting at the exposed column of his throat. He groaned, and suddenly he was lifting her shirt over her head, throwing it to the side, her bra following quickly afterward. He pulled their bare chests together, and she moaned as he once again assaulted her mouth. She lifted a leg, wrapping it around his waist and grinding against him. He growled, dropping from her mouth to her neck, licking and nipping his way up to her jaw. His stubble scratched at her skin as he placed small kisses along her jawline, moving up until he found her ear. He gently tugged on her earlobe. His hot breath ghosted over the shell of her ear, and he flicked out his tongue to trace its edge. Ingrid gasped.

 

“Tell me what you want,” Dean breathed in her ear.

 

Ingrid wrapped her other leg around him. “I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk,”  she whispered back.

 

He growled, lifting her by the waist and moving her over to the hood of the Cadillac. He set her down, unbuttoning her jeans and sliding them down her legs. She toed off her shoes and kicked her pants the rest of the way off, flinging them across the room. Dean traced the edge of her panties, dipping his fingers below the waistband. She whined slightly, wriggling her hips, and he relented, slipping the lace slowly down until it was free. Ingrid moaned as the cool air hit her dripping center. She spread her legs, her head falling back as she gasped.

 

Dean took a small step back to enjoy the view. Her long, sensuous legs were spread, baring her clean-shaven core, which was positively  _ dripping _ with arousal. His eyes traveled up, along the curves of her hips and waist, scanning over the flat plane of her stomach, until they finally settled on her voluptuous breasts. His mouth watered with the desire to suck and bite at her nipples, to lick and nip until she came just from that, but he restrained himself. His eyes continued on their journey, travelling up her chest and over the column of her throat, which already had a few light bruises from their earlier activities. He made a mental note to make those bruises last for days, then continued his observation. He eyed her lips, plump and parted slightly in pleasure, before looking at the flush of desire dusting her cheekbones. Dean finally made his way to her soft, curly red hair. Falling in almost-perfect ringlets down her back, he wanted nothing more than to bury his fingers in it, to tug on it until she gasped in both pain and pleasure.

 

Again, he resisted the urge, opting instead to rid himself of his pants and boxers, tossing them to the side with the rest of their clothes. He sighed as his achingly hard erection was freed from its confines, springing up to bob against his stomach. Ingrid eyed his sizeable package. Of all the men she’d slept with, he was one of the most impressive.  _ Well _ , she thought.  _ It’s not the size that counts. Although it certainly doesn’t hurt. _

 

Finally, both of them were naked, and their patience was running thin. Dean moved forward, bending her over until her back hit the hood of the car. He leaned over her, eyes dark with arousal, and she gave a slight smirk. He growled, slamming his lips against hers and thrusting inside of her in a single motion. She cried out, clutching his shoulders as she was filled so suddenly. He groaned at the feeling of her tight, wet walls clenching around him as her body adjusted to his penetration. As much as he wanted to pound her then and there, he waited until she nodded to pull back and slam into her again. She moaned loudly, wrapping her legs around his hips, pulling him even closer. He thrust again, grunting as she dug her nails into his shoulders. He rocked forward, leaning his arms on the car for balance, and she wrapped herself around him, clinging to him like a lifeline. He moved his hips in shallow thrusts, and she dragged her nails down his back, undoubtedly leaving scratches that would linger for days. He growled and suddenly bit down on her neck, almost hard enough to break the skin. She gasped, clawing him again, and he licked soothingly over the already-forming bruise.

 

Slightly frustrated with the slow pace, Ingrid pulled back far enough to say into his ear, “Dean Winchester, I want you to fuck me. Bend me over the hood of this car and _ fuck me _ !”

 

Dean was happy to oblige. He pulled out, ignoring her sound of disapproval, and flipped her over, her chest now forced against the hood of the car. She moaned at the sensation of cool metal against her heated skin and nipples, but cried out as Dean thrust forcefully into her from behind. He grabbed her hair for leverage, tugging none too gently, pulling her head back. She only moaned at the pleasure edged with pain, both from the hair pulling and this new angle. She felt his cock pushing deeper, farther, and she spread her legs as wide as she could. Suddenly, he hit a spot that made her see stars. She arched her back, clenching hard around him as he hit that same spot over and over again. Just a few more thrusts, and she was coming, her walls constricting his cock almost to the point of pain as wave after wave of bliss tore through her. Dean only managed a bit longer before he came as well, splashing his hot seed over her insides, filling her up to the brim. They stayed like that as they rode out their orgasms, muscles spasming. They panted as they came down from their highs, dropping onto the hood of the car as their muscles finally gave out. Dean carefully untangled his fingers from her hair and pulled out, rolling until he lay on the hood next to her. They stayed there in silence as they caught their breath. Eventually, Ingrid looked over to Dean. “So, you up for round two?”

 

_ Jack POV: _

 

I was sitting next to Sam on the couch, watching an old Western movie now that the Swayze marathon was over. I smacked Sam’s hand away as he dipped his finger into my bowl. “You want ice cream,” I told him as I waved my spoon threateningly. “You can walk yourself into that kitchen and get some.”

 

Sam laughed as he stood. “Nah,” he said, stretching. “I think I’m gonna go for a jog. Care to join?”

 

I rolled my eyes. He chuckled and headed upstairs to get changed. I reclined on the couch, propping my feet up on the arm and setting my now empty bowl on the floor. I flipped aimlessly through the channels, finally settling on some cop show.

 

After a few minutes, I heard a flutter and felt a slight draft against my bare arms. I glanced around, thinking someone (probably Dean) had left a window cracked. Seeing nothing, I was about to lay back and resume my show when suddenly, he was there. I jumped, nearly falling off the couch. Castiel, the angel that had tried to kill me less than two weeks ago, was standing in front of the TV. I felt my heart flutter in my chest, though I had no idea why.  _ Why _ was I so attracted to this man? He’d tried to kill me  _ and _ my unborn child, for God’s sake!

 

Cas shifted uncomfortably, and I realized that I’d been staring at him a bit too long. I cleared my throat, a blush rising to my cheeks. “Wha-” I began at the same time he said “I wis-” We both cut ourselves off, embarrassed. He motioned for me to go first. I licked my lips. “So, what are you doing here?”

 

“I, uh…” He faltered. “I wished to apologize for my actions earlier. And also to make sure you are… unharmed.” Was he blushing? Could angels blush?

 

I suddenly realized that I was still sitting on the couch. I tried to stand. “Yeah, I’m fine. Totally-” I cut myself off as I nearly overbalanced, tottering dangerously as I rose from the couch.

 

Suddenly, I felt a strong arm around my shoulders, steadying me. I clutched Cas’ shoulder as his other hand came to rest on my hip. My heart began to beat faster with the close proximity. I stared up into his amazingly blue eyes, my entire body thrumming with strange energy. My lips parted as he moved his arm from my shoulders to my lower back, pulling me against him. Slowly, our lips drew together. As they met, I felt fire surge through my entire being, and I wrapped both my arms around his neck, eyes sliding shut. I don’t know how long we stayed like that, lips locked and moving in perfect synchrony, but I eventually had to breathe. I pulled away, panting, eyes still closed. I slowly opened them, gazing up at the angel before me. He looked as disheveled as I felt, with his hair a mess and tie askew. After I had regained my breath, he moved forward to reclaim my lips in a kiss, but I gently put a hand against his shoulder, stopping him. He looked down at me in confusion, and he again reminded me of a puppy. I moved my hand up to cup his cheek. He leaned into the touch, though he didn’t seem to realize he was doing it.

 

“Cas,” I began, but then stopped, at a loss for words. His brow furrowed even more, and I stroked my thumb across his cheek. “Cas,” I tried again. “I like you. I really do like you, even if I don’t know why, and judging by that kiss, you feel the same. But,” I saw a flicker of disappointment cross his face. I pressed on. “As much as I like you, I really can’t get involved with someone right now. With all of..,” I gestured to my swollen stomach. “This, going on, I just can’t start something like this with you, not when I can’t give it the attention it deserves. So, as much as I want to, I can’t do this. Yet. Maybe, when this is all over, we can give it a shot. But not now, not here. Do you understand?” I looked into his eyes, mentally pleading with him to get it, to understand that I had too much on my plate with demon children and mysterious powers to add a romance with an angel into the mix.

 

He thought for a few moments, searching my face. Or my mind, I couldn’t tell. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he nodded. “I understand,” he said in his gravelly voice. “I understand what pressure you are already under, and I will wait. I will wait for you, Jacklynn Winchester.”

 

I smiled gratefully. “Call me Jack.”

 

He gave a small, almost unnoticeable smile in return, and then he was gone with a flap of his wings.

 

I plopped down heavily on the couch, thinking about what had just transpired. My lips still tingled from where he had kissed me. Suddenly, I heard Sam thundering down the stairs. I pasted what I hoped was a convincing smile on my face as he walked into the room, now dressed in sweats, tennis shoes, and a light jacket. He smiled back.

 

“Got your phone?” I asked him.

 

He patted his pocket. “Right here.” He gestured to my forgotten ice cream bowl. “I’ll take that to the kitchen for you.”

 

“Thanks,” I replied. As I bent down to pick it up, I noticed something. Laying on the floor, right next to my hand, was a feather. I picked up my bowl, moving my leg to block the feather from Sam’s sight. I handed the dish over to him, and he walked through the kitchen to the back door, putting it in the sink along the way. I waited until I heard the door slam shut to retrieve the feather, picking it up carefully and turning it over in my fingers. It was just a bit longer than my hand, and it was a sleek, glossy black. It almost seemed to glow, but somehow didn’t. I carefully felt the edges, noticing the softness. I studied it for a few more minutes before laying down on the couch once more, holding the feather on my chest as I stared at the ceiling.

 

As I lay there, I never saw Cas, invisible, keeping watch over me from the corner.

 

**…**

 

I laid on my back on my bed and twisted the feather before my eyes, watching as the light caught the glossy vane. I dropped the feather and blocked it from view when the door swung open and Ingrid entered, her curls in a mess around her face and hickies lining her neck. I raised an eyebrow. She dropped her jacket on one of the posts of the bed and wagged her finger at me as she began to gather the dirty clothes strewn across the room. “Not a word, Jack,” she ordered.

 

I sputtered a laugh. “You and Dean? Hmmm… I really didn’t see that one coming.”

 

Ingrid turned around and rolled her eyes, making her way towards the door. “I’m gonna take a shower real quick like. Bobby should be home soon.” She left with a small smile thrown over her shoulder and the door closing.

 

I sighed and slowly sat up on the bed, stretching my arms above my head. I went for the door, the wooden planks cool under my bare feet. As I made my way downstairs, the guy’s voices floated up the stairs.

 

“You got  _ licorice?” _ Sam sounded appalled.

 

“Well, your brother asked if I could get it for him,” Bobby replied, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

 

“Licorice is disgusting!” Sam argued.

 

“Well, your face is disgusting and I have to put up with it.” Dean’s voice entered the conversation.

 

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped my lips as I rounded the last stair and entered the kitchen. In front of the table stood brother against brother, each staring the other down. Dean’s eyes were narrowed, his head slightly tilted back to meet Sam’s eyes. Sam’s hands were placed on his hips, and neither paid attention as I scooted around them and began to help Bobby unload the groceries.

 

“It’s a showdown, hmm? Which brother is going to win?” I muttered to Bobby as I set the milk in the fridge.

 

“Really, I think it’s a tie. It might just end with Sam sitting on Dean until Dean says uncle.” Bobby replied with a sideways glance and a smirk on his lips.

 

I grabbed the bread and held it in my hands for a moment before I put in the cabinet beside the fridge.

 

“Hey Bobby. You get what I asked for?” Ingrid’s voice greeted us before her face. Ingrid walked into the kitchen, wearing _My Little Pony_ fuzzy pajama pants, a pink tank top, and a towel wrapped around her hair.

 

I smiled when Dean broke his staring contest with his brother to look at Ingrid, a smirk playing on the corner of his lips. The smirk dropped when he saw the pants. “C’mon! Can’t anybody wear  _ normal  _ sleeping pants around here?” Dean threw his hands up in the air and stormed out of the kitchen.

 

I looked to each person in the room, arching my brow. “Damn. He’s in a mood today.”

 

Ingrid nodded while Sam headed for his laptop, which was buried under groceries on the table. He moved them off his device, then sat among the plastic bags filled with food and began to type.

 

Ingrid pulled out a pack of steaks from one of the bags.

 

“You’re cooking tonight?” I asked as my eyes widened and my mouth watered.

 

Ingrid looked over at me and smiled, setting the steaks down on the countertop.

 

"You betcha, Jay. It's about time we had a real dinner around here."

 

I smiled and grabbed another bag off the table, putting away the contents. After I finished putting away all the groceries, I slumped into a kitchen chair across from Sam, watching Ingrid’s back as she worked on dinner.

 

“Need help, Ingrid?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

 

“Nope. I’ve got this, Jay.” Ingrid replied without looking at me.

 

I sighed and shoved myself up out of the old wood chair. I began to make my way towards the living room when an idea occurred to me. “Anybody up for UNO?”

 

**…**

 

“Draw four, Dean.” I said with a smile as I smacked the card down on the pile.

 

Dean smirked. “Sorry, Bobby.” He dropped another draw four card. “You draw eight.”

 

Bobby just snorted and threw down a draw four wild card. “Twelve, Sam. And the new color is green.”

 

Sam groaned, letting his head fall and thump against the table. He stayed like that for a few moments before lifting his head and drawing his twelve cards with a grimace. He stared at his hand. “Who in the hell shuffled these?” he asked, drawing another card. And another. And another. On the fifth card, he let out a cry of “ _ Finally _ !” and threw down a green card.

 

“Uno.” I placed another card on the pile. Sam’s shoulders slumped and he gave me his puppy-eyed look.

I shrugged and waited patiently for the color to change. I needed red. Or a five. My stomach rumbled at the smell of steak wafting through the house, and I looked over my shoulder at Ingrid flipping the meat in the sizzling pan.

 

“Dinner!” Ingrid called loudly from the kitchen.

 

My stomach growled loudly, and Sam laughed. “Apparently that baby’s really hungry,” he commented.

 

“I haven’t eaten one of Ingrid’s meals in a long time.” To punctate my words, I quickly grabbed a plate and began to fill it up.


	11. Chapter 10

_Chapter 10:_

 

Where am I? _Was my first thought as I looked around the room I was in. My second one was more concerning._ Why can’t I move? _It then came to my attention that I_ could _move, I just wasn’t in control of it. I watched as my body rolled itself over in bed, a pale hand reaching out to flip on a lamp. I looked at the nightstand. A baby monitor sat on the wooden table. Cries could be heard through the baby’s end, probably caused by the ominously flickering lights. Next to it, a framed picture of a blonde woman and a dark haired man in front of a house._

 

_“John?” a woman’s voice asked, and it took me a moment to realize that it was my lips forming the name._

 

 _I felt my body roll over, and I let out a sigh at sight of the empty bed. I got up and moved out into the hallway. My eyes took in the darkened corridor, the single, flickering light. I stopped to tap it, cocking my head to the side._ That wasn’t good. Flickering lights usually meant much more than an electrical problem. _I tried to scream for the woman to stop, but I couldn’t get my mouth to work. She peeked into one bedroom, a crib in the corner, the walls a light pink color. I could feel my lips quirk into a small smile as she sleepily headed for the next room. She stopped outside the door, rubbing at her eyes as she stared at the figure leaning over another crib._

 

_“John? Is he hungry?” she questioned._

 

_The man cocked his head, hushing her._

 

_“All right.” She turned away from the door to go back to what I assume is the bedroom when flickering lights from downstairs caught her attention. She again cocked her head and headed down the stairs, where she leaned on the banister and looked down into the living room, where an old war movie was playing on a tv set. Her eyes then shifted to the man snoring in the recliner. Dread instantly dropped into my gut._

 

_“Sammy! Sammy!” she almost screamed as she darted up the stairs and flung herself into the nursery, coming to a screeching halt in the doorway as the man turned, yellow eyes flashing in the darkness._

 

 _The… thing didn’t say anything, just threw her into the wall, and she grunted at the impact. I wanted to scrunch my nose as_ it _stepped closer. Sulfur. This thing was a demon. The demon smiled sickeningly at me, drawing out a wicked knife. He waved the blade tauntingly in front of me, making sure I saw how sharp it was before he drew it over my stomach. We both let out a scream._

 

_“Mary!” A man’s voice yelled from downstairs, and I could faintly hear the pounding of footsteps as the demon used telekinesis to drag us up the wall until we finally hit the ceiling._

 

My baby. Is he okay? Oh my God, I’m losing too much blood. We’re gonna die. I couldn’t protect him. _The blood dripped out of my stomach too fast, and I was losing consciousness. But not before I felt the burning heat. I screamed again as the fire engulfed me._

 

I screamed as my eyes snapped open to complete darkness. The light flipped on and Ingrid scrambled to the side of my bed, her eyes wide and her hair a mess.

 

“Jack?” she asked worriedly.

 

I didn’t reply, just threw the heavy comforter off of me, and saw the blood seeping fast into the bed. I’d already lost too much.

 

Ingrid’s eyes darted down with the movement, and she screamed herself. She quickly grabbed a dirty t-shirt from the floor and pressed it to the wound.

 

“Sam! Dean! Anybody!” She again screamed and turned back to me, her eyes wild.

 

“Stay with me, Jack. You’ve got to stay with me, dammit! I’m not losing you.” Her voice was frantic as tears started to stream down her cheeks. She brought a pale hand covered in my blood to place a hand on my shoulder to jar me awake. I screamed again as pain shot through my back.

 

I could feel it. Burns covering my back and arms. Finally the door was thrown open, and Dean stood in the doorframe, Sam and Bobby behind him. His eyes widened as he saw the blood.

 

“Fuck!” He quickly darted forward and ripped my shirt up. Fear flashed across his face, and I knew it was bad. Just as I had thought.

 

I dropped my head back against the pillow, my eyes slowly closing. I barely felt Ingrid’s hands leaving me before an arm slipped under my shoulders to lift me forward. I barely managed a whimper, and I cracked my eyes open to see a pair of shockingly blue eyes before my own slid shut again. Castiel.

 

“You’re not dying, Jack. I’m not letting you. This might hurt,” he murmured as he leaned over me, cradling me to his chest as his left hand rested on my stomach.

 

I could see the blinding light through my closed lids, and I felt it. It felt as if someone was sewing my skin back together and repairing the burnt flesh on my back. I couldn’t help the scream that escaped my lips and arched my body forward. This pain was worse than being cut and burned on a ceiling, and once the pain stopped, I collapsed into the angel’s arms, my hands clutching at the tan trench coat. His arms were wrapped tightly around me, his chin resting on my forehead, blowing warm air into my hair.

 

“How is the baby? Is he alive?” I whispered in a scratchy voice. It was all that mattered to me.

 

“The baby is fine, Jack. You need to be more careful, you almost died.” He pulled back to look at me, and I could see the fear the angel had in his big blue eyes.

 

I just nodded and sighed as he pressed his lips against my forehead. He reluctantly loosened his hold and backed up. I looked over to see Ingrid looking at me wide eyed, Sam, Dean and Bobby both with worried expressions plastered upon their faces. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat up, wincing as my muscles protested.

 

“Oh, Jack!” She rushed forward and wrapped her arms tightly around me, her shoulders shaking with the sobs she muffled into the night shirt I was wearing.

 

“What was it this time, Jack?” Sam asked, his brow furrowed as he thought.

 

I looked at Sam and Dean both. “It was about us… About Mom. I know how she died.”

 

...

 

I could barely hold the pencil steady in my hand in my hand as I sketched what I had seen in my dreams. The demon leaning over the crib, peeking over his shoulder, his eyes a flash of yellow. I shivered as I set the pencil down and shoved the drawing pad away from me. It slid across the table as I huddled in Sam’s oversized sweatshirt. Bobby caught the pad before it tipped over the edge.

 

“The yellow eyed demon himself. John gave his life trying to kill that demon, the crazy SOB,” Bobby muttered under his breath as he stared down at the drawing. He shook his head and slapped the pad back on the table.

 

I ran a hand through my damp hair and curled in more on myself. “I felt the pain she went through, the pain, Bobby.”

 

Bobby sighed and stepped around the table, his hand lightly landing on my shoulder, his fingers rubbing soothing circles into the tense muscle. “I can’t imagine the pain she went through, Jack, or you for that matter, but you can’t let it stop you. Think about the baby you’re carrying. Think about Ingrid, your brothers that in just this short time have come to care about you. Hell, Armageddon is already under way. Lilith’s already broke too many seals.” He gave my shoulder one last pat before letting go and passing Dean on his way to the den.

 

Dean set three shot glasses and a bottle of ol’ gut rot that Bobby had down on the table. He flopped down into the rusty kitchen chair and cracked open the liquor. I looked at the clock hanging over the table and raised an eyebrow.

 

“Don’t you think it’s a little early to be drinking?” I asked, gesturing up to the hands of the clock that pointed out the time of two forty in the morning.

 

Dean shrugged and threw back a shot of the amber liquid, wincing slightly as it burned all the way down. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

 

I rolled my eyes and unfolded my tangled limbs. “You know I can tell you a thousand ways that bottle can kill you?” I arched an eyebrow and opened my mouth to launch into a lengthy list.

 

“Sweetie, ain’t nobody want to hear about what alcohol does to the human body. But thanks, doc.” Ingrid said as she entered the kitchen with Sam trailing behind her. She plopped herself in the chair across the table from me and smacked the palm of her hand on the cracked wooden table top. “Set ‘em up, Joe.”

 

Dean smiled and nodded up to Sam, who stood in the doorway of the kitchen. “Want one too, Sammy?”

 

I stood and stretched, my back popping in several places. “You guys can drink until you drown your little souls and your livers keel over. I’m gonna go in the den and try to numb my brain with a med textbook and notes.” I grabbed my drawing pad off the table and smiled at Sam, who took my spot and quickly downed the shot of amber fire Dean had poured for him.

 

I understood why they were drinking into the wee hours of morning. They needed to numb their own brains and sorrows. For Sam and Dean I had dug up the past again, ripping open old wounds that had never fully healed. For Ingrid it was the simple fact I had made a deal for her and because of that my dreams were trying to kill me. I grabbed my med book and spiral notebook off one of the book shelves, settling down onto the couch. I propped my feet on the edge of the table and used my bent knees as a makeshift desk.

 

I did my best to ignore the noise from the kitchen, the sounds of shot glasses hitting wood, laughs and winces as the alcohol burned their throats. As the night progressed, the sounds from kitchen eventually became background music as I sunk farther down into my medicine book, marking pages and writing notes on the note-pad that lay on the couch cushion next to me.

 

Bobby’s voice pulled my attention from the human body to his wrinkled face. “Jack, I know that I’m the last person to be telling you this, and I know that you won’t listen to me anyways, so I don’t even know why I’m wasting my breath, but I feel I need to.”

 

I wrinkled my brow and set aside the thick textbook and moved my legs from their cramped position. “What do you mean, Bobby?” I asked through a yawn.

 

He gestured with his glass at my yawning as he raised the tumbler to his lips. “Jack, it’s going on five in the morning. You went to bed at midnight. You were literally fried awake at one. You _need_ sleep. You know what going without sleep will do to you. To the baby.” He nodded his head at where the baby rested in my uterus.

 

I sighed and shook my head. “Yes, I know what sleep deprivation will do to me. To my child. But, I can’t force myself to go inside my own head right now, Bobby. It’s a pretty scary place in there.” I tapped my pen against my temple.

 

It was a comfortable silence that hung between Bobby and I, before Dean stumbled into the den, leaning heavily on the wall to keep himself upright as he made his way to the couch. I grunted as he plopped himself down beside me.

 

He gave a crooked smile, and whispered something along the lines of goodnight before his eyes closed and his head hit the pillow, and he was snoring. I sighed and let my textbook thump to the coffee table as I stood and stretched and peeked into the kitchen. Sam was slumped on the kitchen table using his arm as a pillow, drool pooling under his arm. Ingrid’s face was planted on the tabletop, her hair a halo around her head. I sighed and turned back to the den.

 

“Hey, Bobby. I need your help.”

 

…

 

_Sam POV_

 

He groaned and slowly opened his eyes. Something brushed against his cheekbones, and it took a minute for his hungover mind to process that _normally_ didn’t happen. His brow furrowed as he shoved himself into a sitting position, groaning again as his stiff joints popped. Sam brought a hand to his face and stopped as soon as his palm made contact with the skin on his cheek. Was that _powder?_ His eyes widened, and as quickly as his hungover head would let him, he scrambled up off of Bobby’s den floor. Sam ignored the wave of nausea the movement caused him, and rushed for the bathroom down the hall. He skidded to a stop as he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror above the sink. He could see himself from the threshold of the bathroom, and he gasped.

 

“What the… _fuck?”_ He whispered to himself, as he touched his fingertips to his makeup covered face.

 

Sam’s reflection that he saw in the mirror was not one he was used to seeing every morning. On his eyes was done… did the girls nowadays call that a smokey eye? Anyway, that was on his eyes as well as thick eyeliner and fake eyelashes. On the rest of his face was a powder that _barely_ matched his own skin tone, and there was a darker color under his cheekbones that made them look sharper. On his lips was a ruby red lipstick, perfectly done and… Sam touched his fingers to the unrecognizable lips, and nodded. Matte. The thing that made Sam cringe the most was the fact that his eyebrows were perfectly done. Plucked, brushed, and filled in. His eyes widened when he caught sight of his hair. He let out a strangled sound and grabbed two handfuls of sticky, hair-sprayed hair. Perfect ringlets hung just barely past his ears, shining in the dim yellow light of the bathroom.

 

In a fury of a man who had just woken up to the face of _Samantha_ , Sam stomped out of the bathroom, one thing on his mind. Revenge. And the person who was going to receive that revenge. Jacklynn.

 

_Dean POV_

 

He woke to the sounds of someone… No, that was definitely Sam, calling for Jacklynn. Not Jack, but _Jacklynn._ Dean reluctantly opened his eyes and then shot straight up, ignoring his topsy-turvy stomach. His baby brother was stomping through the den, a murderous look on his very… girly looking face. When the fuck did he get a makeover?   

 

“Dude. You look like a girl.” Dean stated the obvious.

 

That stopped Sam in his tracks, a reply waiting on the tip of his tongue, but it died. Dean raised an eyebrow. “Earth to Samantha.” Dean snapped his fingers.

 

Sam came out of his daze and a smile slowly broke out across his face. “Dude. You have

penises on your face.”

 

It took Dean a moment to comprehend exactly what his brot -sister was saying. He quickly jumped up from the couch, darting back to the bathroom, his eyes widening and mouth opening to form a yell as he caught sight of his face. There were dicks on his face. _Dicks!_ One was drawn on his nose, one on each eyebrow,  and the rest were littered on his cheeks, forehead and neck.

 

“ _JACKLYNN._ ”

 


	12. Chapter 11

_ Chapter 11: _

 

_ Five months. _

 

The pranks went on and on, it seemed. I had gotten my hair dyed blue thanks to my twin, who thought it would be funny to put hair dye in my conditioner, knowing I had to let it set in my hair for a certain amount of time. I didn’t smell the damn dye in the bottle, causing me to step out of the shower with a blue and brown color combo in my hair. Sam had gotten his boots superglued to Bobby’s den room floor. The giant didn’t even realize until he slipped his feet into the well worn shoes and tried to take a step, ending up face planting on floor.

 

Dean got a bucket a of flour dropped on his head from above the kitchen door, after coming inside from the hard South Dakota rain. He was not a happy camper, and my abdomen hurt from laughing so much. He got me good, though. I can handle blood, gore, and demons. But a furry, eight legged  _ spider  _ the size of my palm? I ran screaming in the other direction.

 

That happened yesterday, and I had been thinking well over my next plan. This was it. This prank right here. The one prank to end them all.

 

At four a.m. on the dot, I grabbed several bags of glitter that I had stashed under my bed and tip-toed down the stairs, past Sam and Dean, who were sprawled in the living room. I smiled as I pushed out the front door. As soon as I stepped over the threshold of the front door, Cas poofed in front of me. I jumped back and had to hold in my scream.

 

“God, Cas! You scared me!” I whispered as I tried to step past him.

 

Cas stepped in front of me, easily blocking my path down to the Impala. “What are you doing, Jack? You shouldn't leave the house. You're vulnerable to attack here.” His blue eyes stared deeply into mine.

 

“Okay, Cas. But, I really,  _ really  _ need to do this. Could you stay and keep watch while I do it? I’m not leaving the salvage yard. I’m just going to the Impala,” I begged the angel.

 

Cas gave me a long look, then slowly nodded, allowing me to step by him. He was a step behind me, his warm breath blowing down my neck. I shivered as goosebumps pebbled my skin.

 

“Are you cold?” Cas questioned.

 

Before I could tell the angel I was actually a little overheated and the cold December air was actually doing me well, something warm was draped over my shoulders, engulfing me in warmth and the smell of ozone and something sweet that I couldn’t identify. “Thank you, Cas,” I murmured and continued my trek to the Impala.

 

Once at the Impala, I eased the driver’s door open, wincing as it squeaked slightly. Leaving the door open, I crawled into the cab and slid across the leather until I kneeled in the middle of the bench seat, leaning up on the cold console. Pulling a medium sized bag of glitter from my jeans pocket, I ripped the plastic with my teeth. Balancing dangerously on the edge of the seat, I poured half of the glitter into the vent. Sliding along the seat to the next vent, I emptied the rest of the bag into that one.

 

And on it went. I found every vent in the car I could, dumping copious amounts of the herpes of the craft world down the vents, where it all settled somewhere deep within the car. I sat back on my haunches in the backseat, admiring my work. I looked down and realized I still had half a bag left, sitting propped up against the backseat. I smiled as another idea popped into my head.

 

Crawling out of the backseat, I stepped out onto the frozen ground and turned towards Cas. “Hey Cas, can you open the trunk for me? It’s locked and I don’t have a key,” I asked as I shut the door as quietly as I could.

 

Cas sighed as stepped over to the trunk and placed his hand on the sleek black paint. A moment later a quiet  _ pop! _ was heard, and the trunk sprang open, revealing the fake bottom and a tire iron. He stepped away as I moved forward, hefting up the fake bottom and holding it while I poured the rest of the glitter on the weapons.

 

Finally, the glitter was gone, and despite my own jacket and Cas’s trench coat, I was beginning to get chilly. I shut the trunk and turned to look Cas, a smile forming on my lips. “Thank you, Cas. For standing watch. I think I’ll get back inside.”  

 

I was shrugging out of the trench coat when Cas finally spoke. “Jack, when was the last time you slept? You have… I believe the humans call them dark circles, around your eyes. You’re pale and shaky, and you can't seem to focus your eyes properly,” he stated bluntly.

 

I stopped, one arm completely out of the trench coat, the other one still stuck in the sleeve. I looked up at him and sighed. “Cas, believe me, I know what I’m doing to myself, to this baby. I know, and I can’t stop it. My dreams can  _ kill _ me. It’s terrifying, Cas.” I gasped for breath and leaned against the side of the Impala.

 

I wrapped my arms around my ribs and hunched over myself. I hadn’t actually slept more than an hour a day, and currently, I was pushing fifty hours straight without sleep.

 

“What if I stayed near you to protect you?” Cas asked, taking a step forward, a step closer.

 

I offered a small smile, but I shook my head. “I don’t know, Cas…” I whispered.

 

He looked upset for a moment, and then shook his head. “I’m sorry Jack,” he stated, then stepped directly in front of me.

 

I opened my mouth to cry out, to ask what he was doing, but nothing came out. His palm rested against my forehead, and everything went dark.

 

…

 

_ I opened my eyes, and I realized I was in Bobby’s den. I sighed in relief. Finally, somewhere I knew. I instantly knew that I was in another  _ dream _. I just hoped this one didn’t try to kill me. I stood in the corner of the den, watching Bobby sit behind his desk, flipping through some random lore book. I was shocked to see Bobby’s hair a dark brown, his skin completely smooth, and his eyes not as hardened to the world. He looked to be in his late twenties. _

 

_ A small giggle drew my attention from Bobby, down  to the hardwood floor where a girl about the age of four played on the floor with an old baby doll. She had bright red hair that was pulled back into a ponytail with a blue bow, her big green eyes glued to the doll as she rocked the baby in her arms. She looked up at Bobby, and I gasped. It was Ingrid. What was Ingrid doing at Bobby’s at such a young age? _

 

_ “Uncle Bobby, want to hold the baby?” She singsonged and stood up from sitting on her knees, walking over to the desk. _

 

_ A smile broke out on Bobby’s face, as he turned in the swivel chair and hauled the small girl up into his lap. “Sure, I’ll hold the baby.” He snuggled her tight to his chest. _

 

_ A squealing laugh emitted from his arms. “Not me, Uncle Bobby!” _

 

_ Bobby loosened his hold on the child and pressed a kiss into her hair. “You’ll always be a baby in my eyes, Ingrid Johanna Jameson. No one can take that away.” _

 

_ The little girl shook her head, causing her hair to fly around her head. “Uh huh, Uncle Bobby. I’ll grow up someday.” _

 

_ Before Bobby could respond, someone started pounding on the front door. “Singer! Open up!” A male voice bellowed from the other side. _

 

_ Bobby sighed as he set Ingrid down on the den floor and grabbed his gun off the desk top, cocking it as he answered the door, careful to keep the gun hidden from the officer on the other side of the door. _

 

_ “What do you want, Rick?” Bobby asked exasperated. _

 

_ I stood a few steps behind Bobby and narrowed my eyes at the officer. Something was wrong. _

 

_ “Carla and Shane Jameson’s car was found eight miles from here. Rolled into a ditch. Singer, they didn’t make it. Died on impact. Now listen to me, they didn’t have a will. You were listed as an emergency contact, and when I found out their daughter wasn’t with them, I came here. She belongs to the state, Singer.”   _

 

_ My eyes widened as Bobby began to shake his head. “No. She belongs here. Her parents would want her to be here, don’t put her in a home, Rick. Don’t take her.” I could hear Bobby’s voice begin to break. _

 

_ The officer shoved past Bobby, stomping into the den. “It’s the way it’s gotta be, Singer. It’s the rules,” Rick said over his shoulder as he hoisted Ingrid up into his arms. _

 

_ Ingrid began to scream as the officer marched out the door. “Uncle Bobby! Uncle Bobby! I don’t want to go! Don’t make me go!” Her cries were muffled as she was placed in the back of the cruiser. _

 

_ I stood shocked as Bobby fought to reach Ingrid, but was held back by another officer. Tears slipped down my cheeks as I watched the scene continue to unfold. Bobby threw a punch, connecting with the second officer’s jaw, allowing him enough time to slip free. He got within three feet of the cruiser when he was hit from behind, causing him to fall to his knees and hold his head in his hands. _

 

_ I sobbed as I watched the officers hop into the cruiser and drive off, leaving Bobby on his knees, head bowed. _

  
  


…

 

When I woke up from this dream, it wasn’t like the others. I didn’t pop awake, my eyes wide open and my heart racing. I woke up gradually. My cheeks were damp, and my neck was a sticky mess of sweat and tears. I sat up in my bed, my chest heaving with sobs that had yet to quiet down. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my toes brushing the floor as my fingers curled into the blankets that were damp with sweat. After minutes of sitting on the edge of the bed, my sobs calmed down into manageable whimpers and my hands stopped shaking.

 

I forced myself to stand on shaky legs that wouldn’t quite hold me, feet that had gone numb and felt like needles were stabbing through them. I used the wall to lead me to the bathroom where I shakily stripped out of my clothes and stepped under the hot spray of the shower. Over an hour later, I stepped off the bottom stair and swung into the den, legs still trembling but otherwise recovered. Ingrid was sprawled sleeping on the couch, one of Bobby’s old tomes laying open on her chest. Bobby was asleep at his desk, his head propped up on his hands.

 

I looked at the clock on the mantle and sighed. It was eight, and judging by the sunlight filtering through the window, eight in the morning. Good. I had only been out for about four hours. I sat in the chair across from Bobby’s desk, and grabbed one of the books off of the desk. As I settled into the chair, it creaked, alerting Bobby, who sat up straight.

 

“Jack? You’re finally up.” He smiled at me.

 

I cocked my head to the side. “Finally? I’ve only been out for four hours,” I stated.

 

Bobby shook his head as he stretched in the chair. “No, Jack. You’ve been out for a full twenty four hours. Sam and Dean went on a hunt, and Ingrid here’s been brushing up on her lore.” He jerked his head in the direction of Ingrid.

 

I sat there for a moment, then slumped in my chair. “Cas touched my forehead… He must’ve put me to sleep.”

 

“Well, I ain’t objecting girl. You needed the rest. So… Did you have a special dream again?” He questioned, his voice lowered into a whisper.

 

I swallow the lump in my throat, and hold back my tears. “It- it was about you, Bobby. And…” I steeled myself, taking a deep breath. “When were you going to tell us?”

 

Bobby’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about, girl?”

 

“Ingrid, Bobby. I saw what happened. Her parents were hunters, she would’ve been raised in the life if her parents hadn’t died, like I would have been if my dad hadn’t been an arrogant fool. I saw it, Bobby. I saw the pain on your face. You loved her like your own. You would’ve raised her, given her a safe home. I saw how much you fought, Bobby. How much it  _ broke  _ you to let her go...” I finally stopped to take a breath, tears brimming in my eyes.

 

Bobby’s face remained expressionless, his hands clenched into fists on the desktop. Though his face didn’t show the pain, his eyes were glassy with it. He finally spoke, and his voice was low and breathy. He fought to keep tears back. “I fought for that woman on that couch over there. I went through a lotta courts, a lotta lawyers, but it was all ruled the same: I was unfit to raise a child. I was surly, I was a drunk, I didn’t keep house, and I didn’t have a steady income. I tried everything short of kidnapping her.”

 

I nodded, a tear dripping down my cheek. “I’m not saying you didn’t fight for her. I know you did. But, I think you need to tell her the truth.”

 

Bobby gave a half laugh. “Well, for that, I’m gonna need some whiskey.” He picked up the bottle full of amber liquid and gave it a shake. Reaching for the glass sitting in front of him, he snorted and shook his head. “Forget the glass, I’m gonna need the whole damn bottle for this.” Unscrewing the cap, he took a mouthful and swallowed. He then winced. “This ain’t gonna be a pleasant conversation.”

...

 

“I can’t believe it, though I do believe it. Everything makes sense. Why I was always looking over my shoulder, why the dark terrifies me, and why I was missing someone who I couldn’t put a name or face to,” Ingrid stated as she stared down into her coffee.

 

I wrapped my hands around the mug, searching for the warmth it provided. “Ingrid, he loved you like you were his own. He searched for you but couldn’t find you,” I said as I sipped my coffee. “So, do you have any idea what my brothers are hunting?” I asked, effortlessly changing the subject.

 

Ingrid gave me a look, but answered my question. “I think Dean said something about zombies, but Sam thinks it’s just a bunch of ghouls taking it too far.”

 

“Dean and his zombies, man,” I stated with a shake of my head and stood, heading to the fridge for something to eat.

 

“There’s some soup I put back for you, Jay,” Ingrid said as she stood herself, going for the coffeemaker and pouring herself another mug.

 

I pulled out the the soup and had just removed the tin foil cover when a phone rang on the kitchen wall. I looked over at the phone that had the words  _ Singer Salvage  _ printed on the tape in clear black hand writing. “I’ve got it!” I yelled into the den and crossed the kitchen, grabbing the cordless phone from the charger and pressing the green call button.

 

“Singer Salvage. You wreck it, we fix it. This is Jack speaking, how can I help you?” The spiel easily rolled off my tongue as I cradled the phone between my ear and shoulder and putting the soup in the microwave on high.

 

“Jack! Don’t listen! Whatever you do--don’t fucking listen! Whatever that douche bag-” A blood curdling scream cut Dean off.

 

I looked to Ingrid, my eyes wide as I fumbled to put the phone on speaker just as the caller opened his mouth. “Listen to me, Jacklynn Smith. I have your brothers here. And a special little angel.” Another scream came through the receiver, echoing throughout the empty kitchen, punctuating the man’s words.  

 

Before the scream had even ended, the caller’s voice floated back through the scream. “You have twenty-four hours to come for them. After that-” I didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence.

 

The phone had slipped through numb fingers and hit the floor with a  _ crack! _ , and I was running up the stairs, taking each step two at a time. I hit the landing and darted for my room, smacking the door open, ignoring the way it slammed into the wall, the knob making a dent in the plaster. I snagged my already packed Jansport bag from the closet, grabbing clothes and pulling them on quickly.

 

“Jay! Jay, wait!” Ingrid’s voice sounded from the doorway, worry thick in it.

 

I looked up from tying my tennis shoes and blew bangs out of my eyes. “What, Ingrid? Don’t try to stop me, I’m serious. I’m going, they need me… I can’t--I can’t let them get hurt anymore.” I almost snapped.

 

“No, Jay. I’m not here to stop you, I’m coming  _ with _ you. We’re gonna get ‘em back.” I looked up as she grabbed her own bag. Our gazes locked, and I nodded once. “You know where they were traveling to?” I asked as I pulled a hoodie over my head.

 

“Yeah… Belleville, Illinois,” Ingrid said as she shoved her laptop in it’s case.

 

“Where’s the fire, girls?” Bobby asked from the doorway.

 

I stared at him for a moment before answering. “We got a call. Sam, Dean, and Cas… They’ve been got. They need us, Bobby. There’s no one else.” I lifted my chin, daring him to tell me different.

  
He surprised me when he walked into the room, pulling me into a hug, then Ingrid. “Be careful, you girls. You need backup, you let me know. I’m here for you. Just bring back those Idjits.”


	13. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey Y'all. Sorry it's been forever since I've updated anything, been super busy here lately. Shout out and smooches to the best beta reader and co/author ever, Fedora. You're da bomb!

Chapter 12:

_ 22 hours _

 

We’d only been driving for two hours when Ingrid’s phone rang. As she rifled through her enormous handbag, I carefully leaned over the gearshift, mindful of my protruding stomach, and I cut off the Fall Out Boy song that was streaming from the speakers. 

 

She hit answer without a glance to the caller ID, wedging the phone between her ear and shoulder. “Yo.” She continued typing on her laptop. 

 

In the echoing silence left by the radio’s absence, I could hear Bobby’s gruff voice, made tinny by the phone’s small speaker. I couldn’t make out what was said over the growl of the engine and the rushing wind outside, but I could guess at what he had to report.  

 

Less than a minute after the call bagan, Ingrid wrapped it up with, “Thanks, Bobby. We’ll be in touch.” She ended the conversation and tossed the phone carelessly into the center console. 

 

“Bobby found them,” I stated. It wasn’t a question. 

 

Ingrid nodded, fingers flying across the keyboard. “He said they were in an old nail factory on the east side of town. Unfortunately, this town has a  _ fuck ton _ of factories, mostly abandoned,” she ground out between clenched teeth. 

 

I glanced at her from the corner of my eye. “We still have time, Ingrid. Whatever has them will keep them alive. He knows that if he kills them, it’s a no go with me.” I tried to sound hopeful, but knew I had failed. If he had three hostages, he could kill two to make a point.  

 

Ingrid knew that as well. She simply sighed and shook her head. “Just drive faster, Jay.” 

 

In response, I pushed the gas pedal to the floor, ignoring the groans of protest the engine sent my way. 

**…**

 

_ 14 Hours _

 

The would-be nine hour drive passed in seven. Fortunately for us, the police were either too lazy or too preoccupied to bother with us, despite the fact that we were going as fast as my old Kia could go (granted, the car topped out at 85 mph, but that was still over every speed limit this side of Montana).The only times we stopped were to fill up on gas and go to the bathroom. Neither of us could stomach the thought of food at the moment, so we passed over the snack aisles entirely. Ingrid and I rarely talked, too caught up in our personal nightmares. At the four hour mark, we decided to switch places. I had to peel each individual finger off the steering wheel. I’d been clenching it so tightly my fingers went numb and had locked in place. I gingerly tried to rub them, hoping to stimulate some circulation again. Out of nowhere, I was hit with a sudden longing. I wished it were Cas holding my hands, cupping them gently as he kneaded my fingers. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to hear his rough, gravelly voice. Then I shook my head, dispelling the image. Daydreaming was pointless. We needed a plan, not a fantasy. 

 

The next five hours passed with agonizing sluggishness, as though time itself had drowned in a vat of molasses. Yet at the same time, it moved with a terrifying rapidity. I was all too aware that each passing second was another moment taken off my brothers’ lives. 

 

I sighed in relief when a “Welcome to Belleville!” sign flashed by. Ingrid quickly found a cheap, by-the-hour motel. As we checked in, the old woman working the front desk kept a suspicious glare leveled at us, her bright blue eyes narrowed as she handed back my bank card. 

 

“Are you with those..  _ Men  _ who came in yesterday?” Her voice dripped with disdain. “We don’t get a lot of customers around here, and you lot look a lot like  _ their _ type. They came in, got their room, and I haven’t seen high or low of them since.” She leaned forward across the desk, gnarled hands supporting her on the cheap wood. “They seem like trouble, and I sure hope you ain’t with them, hon. What with your...  _ condition  _ and all.” She nodded her head in direction of my abdomen. 

 

I glanced over at Ingrid, who gave the lady a winning smile and shook her head. “No ma’am. We are not with those people. In fact, why don’t you give us a room a few away from theirs? We’d like to avoid trouble at any cost, especially if those boys are as bad as you say.” 

 

I held my breath as the woman scrutinized Ingrid carefully, and after a moment’s consideration, nodded. “I’ll put you in four. They were in one, and I sure don’t want you girls harmed. No siree,  not on my property.” She clucked disapprovingly as she began to ring up the room. 

 

My eyes widened, and I had to turn my back to the desk so the woman wouldn’t see my shock or disgust at her attitude.

 

**…**

 

_ 13 Hours _

 

I casually stood guard behind Ingrid’s crouched form as she attempted to pick the lock to the boys’ hotel room. Fighting back a smile, I listened to the steady stream of curses flowing from her mouth, nearly drowning out the rasp of metal on metal. 

 

“Son of a fuck,” she grumbled. “This lock is in horrible condition. We’d probably have better luck kicking the door down.”

 

“Are you sure it’s the lock and not the person trying to pick it?” I laughed. 

 

I dodged an elbow to thigh. “Laugh it up, Jay. You can’t pick a padlock, much less a- Oh! Finally!” She whooped silently and swung the door open. 

 

“Well, let’s figure out what they were hunting, shall we?” I stepped around Ingrid, over the salt lines, and into the room.

 

It was dark, lights off and curtains drawn. Duffels lay discarded on the floor with clothes hanging half out of them. The sheets and comforters were rumpled from where the guys had slept on them the night before, papers and books lying across one of the beds (probably Sam’s). I slid my hand along the wall blindly, pausing when my fingers encountered the hard plastic of the switch. Light flooded the room, and I could tell that there was no signs of struggle. 

 

“They weren’t taken from here,” Ingrid commented as she entered, a pocket knife clasped tightly in her hand.

 

I nodded and closed the door, shutting out the natural light. “The Impala’s not here either. Whatever took them must’ve lured them away somehow.” I flopped on the bed farthest from the door and picked up the papers scattered across the dingy comforter, while Ingrid decided to poke around Sam’s laptop. 

 

I furrowed my brow as I flipped through the police reports.  _ Grave robberies, bodies torn apart, human teeth-marks on the bones.  _ It went on and on. “Any hunter could tell you this is a ghoul,” I eventually said, tossing the papers aside. “I think the guys were tricked into coming here.” 

 

“Why would something want them here, now? And why use them to get to you?” Ingrid questioned, straightening and pulling out a rickety plastic chair. It groaned and nearly collapsed under her weight, but she settled in anyway, leaning back and crossing her legs. 

 

I rose from the bed, pacing as my mind whirled. First order of business: figure out where they were taken.  _ Easy. An old factory.  _ Next: Who or what would hold a grudge against my brothers?  _ Long list _ . _ Narrow it down. _ Alright, who or what would hold a grudge against my brothers  _ and _ Cas?  _ Not much overlap there. Probably a demon. _ But why?  _ He called me out by name. He wants me.  _ But why, why, why? 

 

Suddenly, it hit me. I halted mid-step in the center of the room. “I’ve got it,” I told Ingrid. 

 

She stopped typing on Sam’s laptop and looked up at me, an eyebrow raised. “Pray tell.”

 

I resumed pacing. “It’s safe to assume a demon’s behind this, right?” I didn’t wait for a response. “Right. It’s pretty obvious why a demon’d want Sam, Dean, and Cas. But he called  _ me _ out, too. I’m part of his plan, for whatever reason. But there’s only one direct connection I have to demons.” I gave Ingrid a pointed look. 

 

She nodded, eyes dark. “Your deal. You think this is about your deal.”

 

“What else could it be?” I asked. “A demon who knows my full name calls me and tells me he’s holding my family hostage? There’s no way it’s anything else.” 

 

Ingrid frowned, closing Sam’s laptop and turning around in her chair. “You know this is a trap, right? And we still don’t know what the demon wants with you.”

 

“Of course it’s a trap,” I responded. “And as long as we don’t know what to expect, we’ll be in danger. But demons like to talk. He won’t keep quiet for long. And as far as I know, this is the first half-demon baby in about a century. It makes sense that that’s what he’s after.”

 

“But,” Ingrid began. “We’re assuming it  _ is _ a demon. For all we know, it could be those ghouls the boys were hunting.”

 

I sighed in resignation. “You’re right.” I flopped back down on the bed. “We need to be open to every possibility.”

 

Ingrid gave me a sharp grin, turning back to the computer. “Then let’s get crackin’, Jay.”

 

**…**

 

_ 11 Hours _

 

In the hours we’d spent in the boys’ hotel room, the only new information we found was that Dean liked to steal Sam’s laptop to watch a truly incredible amount of porn. It didn’t take long for Ingrid to get fed up and shove Sam’s laptop across the cracked linoleum table. Her flaming red hair, pulled into a ponytail a few hours previously, now frizzed and fought to escape its confines, and her green eyes were dull and tired from staring at the computer screen.

 

“Jay, we’re not finding anything new here. I say we suit up and head after the guys. We’re pretty damn sure it’s a demon, and…we can handle it.” She stretched, rising from her seat at the table and poking around the room. At one point, she shifted the TV aside and looked behind the cabinet, then moved away with a frown and peered under the bed farthest from the door. 

 

I watched her putter around for a minute, then sighed deeply, giving into what Ingrid had told me an hour ago:  _ there’s nothing new here, everything points to a demon. We need to go after them now.  _ “Okay, fine, we’ll go in. But we sti-” I paused as Ingrid upended Dean’s duffel bag onto the bed, scattering clothes and hygiene essentials everywhere. “What are you doing?”

 

She glanced up at me as she rooted through Dean’s possessions. “I’m looking for weapons,” she stated, as though it were obvious. “We didn’t bring any with us.”

 

“Well, they keep most of their weapons either on them or in the trunk of the Impala. But I know that Dean-” I walked up to bed closest to the door and reached beneath the pillow. My fingers encountered something hard and cool, and I wrapped my fingers around it, pulling out a wickedly sharp blade. “-keeps this under his pillow,” I finished, looking at the (exorbitantly large) knife with a tinge of satisfaction. 

 

I could practically hear the surprise on her face. “How’d you know that?” she questioned. 

 

I shrugged and adopted my most blasé tone. “He nearly stabbed me with it once.”

 

Her small gasp made me smirk slightly. “Why woul- nevermind. Now, maybe Sam…” She trailed off as she rummaged under his pillow, giving a small whoop of victory as she pulled out a slightly more reasonably-sized blade. 

 

The next thirty minutes were spent searching the room for more hidden weapons, but to no avail. They’d apparently taken everything except the two knives with them. Ingrid sighed as she plopped down on on the bed, studying the blade as though it held all the answers of the universe.

 

“I hope this is enough to kick some demon ass,” she commented idly, turning the knife over in her hands. The blade flashed in the artificial light, throwing a silvery reflection on the opposite wall. 

 

I sat down on the edge of the bed beside Ingrid, shoving clothes and paper aside to make room. “Probably not, but hey, at least we’ll go down saving those dumbasses.” I bumped my shoulder against hers. 

 

Ingrid attempted to smile, but it faded quickly. “We need to get on the road.” Determination rang clear in her voice, though she remained sitting, seemingly reluctant to move. 

 

After a moment’s pause, I stood, holding my hand out to her. “Well, then, let’s go.” 

 

**…**

 

_ 9 Hours _

 

After hours of searching through Belleville’s numerous nail factories, we made our way to the last one. It was far beyond the outskirts of town, surrounded by wild trees and overgrown grass, covered in rust and dirt. There wasn’t an unbroken window in the place. I wrinkled my nose. The guys were gonna be lucky to make it out of here alive with all of the bacteria swimming in their wounds.  _ Wounds. _ My stomach turned at the thought of finding them bleeding out and tied down. 

I forced myself to take deep, even breaths as I stepped out of the warm Kia into February’s chilly night air. Shivering, I waited for Ingrid to kill the engine and slam the door. 

 

“We stick together no matter what, no matter _what_ this thing throws at us. No splitting up,” I ordered. Ingrid stood by my side, clutching Sam’s knife with a desperate intensity. 

 

“No splitting up. No matter what,” she echoed, and with that, she took off to the dilapidated factory. 

 

I groaned and chased after her, crouching down as far as my pregnant belly would allow. I huffed out a breath once I’d crossed the cracked, sun-bleached parking lot. “The demon already knows we’re here,” I whispered. “No use in sneaking around. We may as well just walk in.”

 

Ingrid rolled her eyes at me. “Just take all my fun away, Jay. I don’t get to feel like a ninja very often.”

 

I ignored her as we crept along the wall to the entrance. Brightly colored graffiti littered the door, dark orange rust spots appearing sporadically on the dark gray metal and breaking the delicate lines of spray paint. Ingrid paused and motioned me to the other side of the door. 

 

I flipped my knife, rearranging it so the blade ran parallel to my arm. My knuckles were clenched white around the handle. With my empty hand, I reached forward and grabbed ahold of the door knob. The cold made my palm tingle, but I shook the sensation away. I waited for Ingrid’s signal impatiently. 

 

Ingrid nodded, knife held at the ready in front of her. I twisted the knob and yanked the door back. The hinges screeched in protest, letting out a deafening squeal as rust flaked off and drifted slowly to the ground. Somewhere near the ceiling, a bird squawked and fluttered away. I followed Ingrid into the entryway and hovered. Darkness greeted us inside, along with the cloying scent of wet iron and mold. I nearly gagged. 

 

“How’re you gonna be a doctor and have the stomach of a five year old?” Ingrid whispered as she hesitantly entered the factory, flipping on the emergency flashlight I usually left in my glovebox. 

 

I narrowed my eyes at the back of her head as I followed closely after her. “I’m  _ pregnant,  _ Ingrid.”

 

“Well, ex _ cuse _ m-” 

 

A bloodcurdling scream cut off whatever snappy retort she was about to release. We froze in place. My pulse skyrocketed and my stomach dropped. It seemed to go on and on, echoing through the abandoned building. When it finally cut off in a sob, I pointed to the door to our left. 

 

“It came from that direction,” I breathed into Ingrid’s ear. 

 

She didn’t respond, merely shifting so the arm holding the flashlight rested atop the one wielding the knife and starting towards the hall to the left. Choking gasps and breathless whispers rebounded off the cold stone walls, leading us up the grate stairs and to the last doorway on the right. The door itself was ripped off its hinges, leaned haphazardly against the opposite wall. The voices came from inside the room. 

 

“...know how many demons in hell are against Crowley? How many want his head on a platter? If I ruin his biggest deal, he won’t get the throne.” I could practically  _ hear  _ the smugness in the demon’s oily voice. 

 

Ingrid came to a stop inches from the door, back pressed to the wall and knife held low. She flicked the flashlight off silently, casting us into a darkness disturbed only by the dirty, yellowed light coming from the room. I watched as Ingrid took a deep, reassuring breath, then whipped herself through the door, pitching the flashlight at the demon’s head. 

 

I watched as the demon whirled to face us, eyes fully black and smirk firmly in place. Behind him, in a circle of fire, sat three chairs. Dean was in the center seat, with Sam on his left and Cas on his right. They were each bruised and battered, with blood seeping from open wounds and tight lines of pain around their eyes. Even Cas, the invulnerable angel, was injured rather severely. Crimson trailed from slashes across his chest, and something else… something that glowed a bright white-blue and became wispy as smoke when exposed to the air. Blood pooled beneath each chair, nearly reaching the fire that encircled them. Off to the right, across the room, a rack held numerous tools, most of which were unfamiliar. But the fact that they were caked in red made their purpose frighteningly clear. 

 

I was torn from my observations as the demon let out an angry hiss, dodging the flashlight and flinging Ingrid against the wall with a flick of his hand. My gasp was lost in Dean’s shout of, “Ingrid!”

 

I glared at the demon as I edged into the room, knife held up defensively. “Hey! You wanted me, right? Well, you got me here, so are you just gonna throw Ingrid around? Cause if you are…” I babbled rapidly, simultaneously distracting the demon from Ingrid and the boys and trying to come up with a plan that wouldn’t get everyone here killed. 

 

The demon didn’t reply, but the nasty smirk returned as his fist connected with my jaw, sending me flying backwards. I hit the ground hard in front of Dean’s feet, fortunately clearing the ring of fire. I groaned and forced myself to my knees. As subtly as possible, I tucked the knife under Dean’s thigh, staring meaningfully into his eyes. He gave a slight nod, and I smiled as I regained my feet.

 

“Jacklynn, behind-” Cas tried to warn me, but it was too late.

 

Before I could turn, the demon had me by the shoulders, forcing me to face him. His hands fisted in my Carhartt as he lifted and flung me into the far wall. I hit shoulder first with an almighty smack, and my head followed quickly, cracking harshly against the dirty stone. Stunned, I dropped bonelessly onto his weapons rack, sending the instruments clattering to the floor.

 

“Jacklynn!” Cas’s gravelly voice called out, hoarse with pain and screams. From the corner of a bruised eye, I could see him struggling against his restraints. 

 

I struggled to reach my knees, but the demon was there before I could manage the feat. His left hand forced me to the ground, and his right curled into a fist, pistoning hit after hit right to my face. Through the blood rushing in my ears and the fierce crack of skin on skin, I could barely hear Cas, Sam, Dean, and Ingrid calling out to me. As black spots began to swim around the edges of my vision, I made out another voice added into the mix. 

 

“Well, well. Look at this. Already trying to get out of your deal, Jacklynn?” The demon pounding me froze mid swing. 

 

Suddenly, he was yanked away. Without the hand clenched bruisingly on my shoulder, my own balance failed me. I swayed slightly and fell back against the wall. Through swollen eyes, I saw that Dean had freed himself and had the demon by the collar. He shoved the denizen roughly towards the newcomer. 

 

“And who the fuck are you?” he spat, wiping a string of blood from his lower lip. 

 

The suited man gave Dean a smug yet annoyed look. “I’m Crowley, King of the Crossroads and bearer of your sister’s contract. Forgive me if I’m a touch concerned about the wee lad in your sister’s womb, seeing as he  _ is _ my child.” Sarcasm dripped from every word. 

 

The whole room went quiet.

 

Crowley smirked. “Well, this has been fun and all, but I’m afraid I must go back to Hell and take care of this traitor. Toodles.” 

 

And he was gone. 


End file.
